Brutally Honest
by YourGleek
Summary: Six years later, Santana Lopez still hears the words that Rachel Berry spat at her in the choir room. As much as they had stung her at the time, not even she had imagined that they would actually come true. Future!Fic Pezberry
1. Ones, Fives, & Twenties

**AN: Okay, this story was winning the poll on my profile by a major landslide, so I decided I would just go ahead with it now since I already have a few chapters written. I can swing two stories at once, so no worries! For those of you who were rooting for Unholy Unrest, too bad it's getting locked away in a vault, never to see the light of day again. Ha, yeah right, it'll be posted eventually! ;)**

**This story earns it's M rating right off the bat, so please be aware of that! I don't want to give anything away in the summary, you'll have to read and find out why. As I said before...it's gritty and nothing like my other stories. In this first chapter you get introduced to Santana's life and Rachel's as well, although they won't be coming in contact with one another until next chapter. Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: You all know I don't own Glee...**

* * *

><p>Chapter 1 – Ones, Fives, &amp; Twenties<p>

Six years after high school, Santana Karofsky was even less secure with herself and even more flawed. Her caramel hued skin didn't glow on its own anymore, but that was what bronzer, blush, and a myriad of other make up products were for. Dark eyes no longer dazzled and her too-thin figure was no longer a picture of health and athleticism. Even the nose that had once set off her exotic good looks was just a slightly-less-than-straight, painful reminder.

While she used to love mirrors and the hours she spent building up her power in front of them, a schedule worked every Friday and Saturday night for the last three years had taught her to loathe them. Even with half of the lights dimmed out from old age, her dressing room mirror still managed to illuminate everything she hated about herself – some visible, others invisible.

"Fuck it," Santana whispered to her reflection as she tried and failed to remove all of the heavy, black eyeliner from her eyelids. Who cared if it smudged and made her look double her age, it was just going to go back on the next night and she needed to tend to more pressing matters.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Pulling her cropped trench coat around her and tying the sash at her waist, Santana walked out to her car in the darkened parking lot of the strip club where she worked. She watched the deserted area as she walked, trying to make sure that it stayed that way. What she was about to do could get her into a lot of trouble – maybe even fired or worse – but when she remembered her four year old daughter, her mostly empty refrigerator, and the bitchy babysitter who she would have to pay for the night, she knew she was making the right decision.

The man who had boldly whispered in her ear in the club was standing against the door of her car, the one she had described to him after making a quick, snap judgment. "Took you long enough…" he said as he pushed himself off the vehicle and stepped away.

"I told you I still had half an hour left on my shift," Santana stated matter-of-factly, not bothering to look at him but instead getting out her keys and opening the car door.

"It's fine. Are you still up for this?" he asked. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his thumb hooked into the belt on his jeans, this fingertips already ghosting over the zipper trying to relieve pressure. It disgusted her, but she swallowed her pride just as she would be swallowing his in a few minutes.

"Yeah…" Santana said evenly as she sat down in the driver seat, keeping her scuffed patent stilettos on the pavement. "You got a condom?"

"Shit…no…" he swore, patting his pockets.

Santana hesitated and thought of just turning him away. But once again thoughts of her daughter and the lack of tips she had made that night clouded her brain. It wasn't like she really cared about what happened to her body anymore and if anything it was just a way to make more money. "Whatever, I'll do it, but it's gonna be seventy-five then."

"You said fifty!" the man hissed, his own eyes scanning the few cars still occupying the lot.

Sighing, Santana pulled her hair back into a low ponytail. "You want it or not, man? I could just say no." A selfish part of her wanted him to decline, but the mother in her was silently begging him to accept.

"Let's just do this," he finally replied. The sound of his zipper seemed deafening in the quiet environment, but Santana just ignored it and let him cup the base of her skull with his large hand, pulling her head forward.

She tried to take her mind to another place, but it was hard to do while trying to concentrate on breathing through her nose and rolling her tongue. At least if she made it good it would be quicker for both of them and it wasn't too long before the nameless man was holding her jaw with both hands, thrusting until she could feel him half way down her throat. When he finally pulled himself away, Santana doubled over in a gag but picked her head up just in time to have a warm, gush of fluid catch in her false eyelashes.

"Ah, damnit!" she gasped, reflexively bringing her fingertips to her eye. "You fucking bastard!"

"Whatever, slut," he said back nonchalantly, pulling a few bills from his wallet and tossing them in her lap. He started walking away before she could even get her eye open again, probably a good indicator that he hadn't owned up to the price she set.

"Stupid mother fucker." She continued to mutter under her breath until she finally got to count the money in her lap, which happened to be four twenty dollar bills. As she stuffed them into her bra she guessed that someone must have been on her side that night after all.

As she made the hour drive back to Lima, Santana tried not to think about her raw throat and the tears that were always threatening to fall. Tears didn't keep her daughter fed, but writhing on poles and blowing guys in back parking lots did and she knew which option she would continue to choose.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Before exiting her car and entering her house, Santana thanked whoever was watching over her that her husband wasn't home yet and wrote a check against the steering wheel. She was pretty sure the high school girl from down the street who served as her babysitter had already figured out her weekend occupation, but she would be damned if she paid the girl with all singles and the occasional five dollar bill. It wasn't hard to figure out what someone had been up to when they came home covered in a fine sheen of body shimmer, stomping around in six inch heels.

A knuckle rapping on the glass window made her jump and swivel her head to her left. Her heart calmed a little when she found that it was just the babysitter, standing there expectantly with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

"She's asleep on the couch, I'm going home," she said blandly, as Santana stepped out of the car and tried not to notice the judging eyes studying her bare legs.

Santana handed over the check; the girl hesitated before taking it carefully by a corner. "Thanks for staying with her tonight."

"Yeah…" she simply answered and then turned away to walk back to her own home.

Once inside and despite everything, Santana found herself smiling at nothing as she locked the front door. Of course the smile wasn't really for nothing; it was for her daughter, Olivia, who lied tangled up in her blanket sound asleep. The little girl who shared all of her beautiful and dominant Hispanic features and none of her father's was the one thing Santana was proud of in her life.

"My baby girl…" she whispered, as she tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind Olivia's ear. She bent to kiss her forehead, but quickly straightened herself again after remembering the last place her mouth had been. Shame and guilt creased the skin between her brows, and she tore her coat off preparing to go take a shower and brush her teeth until she gagged some more.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

After showering, Santana aimlessly walked into the kitchen. She didn't even know why she bothered coming into that particular area of the house; it wasn't like she really ate anymore. It was bad for business and her limited funds.

"Looks like you had a pretty good night tonight…"

Santana gasped at the sudden voice that she hadn't been expecting and pressed her hand to her chest, covering the worn white and black WMHS letters that emblazoned the front of her old Cheerios sweatshirt. "Jesus Christ, you scared me!"

Her husband, David Karofsky, sat at their kitchen counter on a stool. In front of him, laid the pile of cash that Santana had dumped from her purse, some bills wadded up haphazardly and others still strategically folded lengthwise. Then off to the side of those there were four crisp bills, still folded as if they had just come from a wallet.

"Thirty-seven ones, two fives, and –"

"It was a slow night," Santana interrupted, busying herself with a glass of ice water.

Dave didn't believe the story for a second and his eyes grew colder, piercing into his wife's back. "So…it was a slow night," he reiterated and picked up the four twenty dollar bills between his index and middle finger. "And then some high roller just happened to stop by a seedy strip club in the middle of nowhere Ohio and paid you eighty bucks for a lap dance?"

"That's right," she sing-songed back. One thing she hadn't lost over the years was her snotty attitude. If anything it had just gotten worse.

Dave was right up beside her in a matter of seconds, ripping the glass tumbler out of her hand and smashing it into the stainless steel of the sink. It cracked into pieces with a sharp crash.

"Great, you probably woke her up!" Santana said, dodging her husband's large frame and heading for the living room.

"I don't give a fuck if she wakes up or not!" Dave shouted back. He caught her by the arm as she tried to leave and swiftly shoved her against the nearest wall. Santana glared at him with eyes that always seemed to burn with anger, fear, or a combination of both. "Now, tell me where that money came from."

"A few different guys…" the Latina mumbled as she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn't move away from the wall because he was blocking her and it annoyed her because she knew exactly how it would end. "It wasn't just one, _obviously_."

"You're such a liar," Dave said with a cynical smile.

And then without warning, his knuckles forcefully collided with Santana's eye socket. It hurt – even more so because her head was against the wall – but she didn't cry out, she hardly even flinched. "That all you got," she asked slowly, while relishing the way her eye felt like it was about to explode. She always lost the battle, but at least by maintaining some of her dignity and fight she could feel like she was winning the war.

The comment sent him into a rage just as she knew it would and by the time he was finished with her, Santana was sitting down against the wall, no longer able to stand because her head was swimming with snaps of light. She had found herself in the same position a thousand other times. The prickling and tingling beneath both of her eyes was a tell tale sign that the skin would be a pretty shade of purplish black in the morning and the warmth running over her full lips let her know that her sweatshirt was probably getting stained.

A hand came down and wrapped in the loose, still-wet waves of her hair, forcing her to look upward. "You're a fucking whore, Santana! You always were and you always will be!" Dave yelled down at her. "The only difference now is that you actually get paid!"

He let go of her hair and Santana let her head fall as she huffed out a humorless laugh. "I know."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"_Mami…mami?"_

Santana startled awake when something brushed her cheek and her pain receptors fired into action. "Fuck," she hissed, opening her eyes to find her daughter sitting next to her head. Then she groaned, "Ugh, mami didn't mean to say that."

"Your face is hurt again, mami," Olivia announced, moving her small hand to touch the bruised area once more, not understanding that it would cause pain.

"I know," Santana sighed as she gently stopped her hand. "But please don't touch it, baby, it hurts."

"Why did daddy do that?"

_Because your mami is a half-way hooker, baby, but you'll never need to know that,_ Santana thought as she looked into Olivia's deep brown eyes. Despite everything she had witnessed in her young life, those eyes still shone with childlike innocence – exactly as they should have.

"He did it because he was mad, you know that."

Olivia rolled her eyes and Santana smiled even though she shouldn't have considering she was only a four year old. "He's always mad. Are all daddies mad?"

Sitting up, Santana thought back to her own father, who was always in some type of bad mood over this, that, or the other thing. Long shifts at the hospital, complaining patients, paperwork, a straying wife, an inconvenient daughter, a messy divorce – it all caused him to be withdrawn from his family and taught Santana to fear him from a tender age. She knew Dave's reasons were different. He had been naturally violent and angry in high school, but it also stemmed from a lot of other factors, two of them being her unwanted presence in his life and his repressed homosexuality.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, because really she didn't know, at least not from her own experiences. "Come on, let's go get breakfast, mija."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Well, sweetie, while I understand the sentiment behind you staying here for the summer, I still can't believe you're actually doing it," Leroy Berry said to his daughter as he set down another box filled with her belongings in her childhood bedroom.

"Daddy, if I didn't know any better I would accuse you of trying to talk me out of this idea," a voice shouted from outside in the hall.

When his daughter finally entered the room carrying the last box, he couldn't help but admire the woman she had become. Time had been kind to Rachel Berry. She had grown into the features that she had once been made fun of for; her dark hair was still long, but cut into various layers that framed her luminous smile, distinct nose and equally dark eyes. She had even abandoned her old style of dressing like an elementary school student and opted for something fresher and actually appropriate to her age group. But that could have been due to living in New York City since she graduated and spending time with enough stylists to pick up a fashion sense.

In just six short, yet chaotically satisfying years, she had done everything that she promised her high school peers she would. She had made it to Broadway, won two Grammy's, starred in a Tony Award winning show, and to top it all off, she had even gotten to sing with her greatest idol and namesake – Barbra Streisand – on a few occasions.

"Oh, he's not trying to talk you out of it, Rach. We've been looking forward to this for months," Hiram Berry announced as he filed in behind his daughter. "We just can't believe that you're giving up the city to come back to little ol' Lima."

Rachel beamed, motioned for both of her fathers, and then wrapped her arms around their waists. "You know I love the city, but the city doesn't have two of my most favorite things…my dads," she said sweetly. Her persuasive and brown nosing qualities were still as strong as ever. "I haven't been here for longer than a few weeks since I graduated, it'll be nice to be home for a change! Who knows when I'll get to come back next after I start my new show in the fall! Besides, even if this is a small town, I'm sure I can find some type of trouble to get into this summer!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Later in the evening, Rachel and her fathers sat in the middle of BreadstiX, in a booth that she was pretty sure she had once frequented years ago with her old boyfriend Finn Hudson. To say it was making her just nostalgic would have been an understatement.

"I can't believe this place is still here!" Rachel gushed as she speared her salad with a fork. "I have so many fond memories of this restaurant. I remember when Kurt had a meeting of the Lonely Hearts Club here and the Dalton Warblers sang for Valentine's Day. Speaking of which, who still lives in the area, anyone from Glee club?"

Leroy teasingly rolled his eyes at all of his daughter's reminiscing. "You're making us feel old, but if you insist on knowing I think a few of them might still be in town."

Rachel perked up even more, quickly asking, "Who! Anyone that I was actually friends with?"

"I know that Puckerman punk is still hanging around, although he's not much of a punk anymore." Hiram explained. "He actually owns a pool cleaning and supply company."

Water nearly shot from Rachel's nose as she choked on the liquid while laughing. She swiftly recovered and dabbed at her mouth with her linen napkin. "Wow, life is definitely ironic…"

"Definitely." Leroy echoed, as he twirled some pasta on his spoon thoughtfully. "Oh! That cheerleader is still here…the mean one. I can't think of her name."

"Quinn Fabray?"

"No, the other one. Hispanic, dark hair…I think her name was something-or-other Lopez, maybe?"

"Santana Lopez!" Rachel half exclaimed, half asked, sounding surprised. "She always made it sound like she was going to leave this town behind. She was talented in school, I thought she would have went off to college or something at least." _Even though that's not where I told her she would end up in junior year._

Leroy shook his head in disagreement. "Nope. Now she's married to that Karofsky guy that used to bully your friend Kurt. I've seen her in a few places with her daughter, she's a cute little thing."

Suddenly, it became apparent to Rachel that she was the one who had left her hometown behind. Sure she kept in touch with Kurt Hummel, Mercedes Jones, and occasionally Finn, but none of them ever really searched that hard to figure out what their other classmates were doing. She knew Quinn had gone off to law school somewhere on the East coast and had eventually settled down with the nice Christian man that her parents expected her to be with. Brittany Pierce – despite all of her randomness and lack of common sense – had even somehow made it to Los Angeles with her affinity for dancing. But as for the others, Rachel hadn't done much to keep track of them and she was sure it was mutual on their parts as well.

To hear that Santana Lopez had stayed in Lima to get married and raise children was shocking. Rachel had always secretly thought that out of all the other Glee girls, Santana would be the one to end up in a big city somewhere, living a wild and crazy existence where she used all of her spunk to break hearts and get exactly what she wanted out of life.

"That's…interesting, to say the least," Rachel finally said, still trying to process just how much had occurred since that day when the Glee club parted ways in white and red robes and caps. "I never would have imagined that lifestyle for her. Dave must have changed a lot for her to end up marrying him and have a daughter… she must be happy."

* * *

><p><strong>So...do you all hate me now? : Hopefully not! I know it's a change of pace, but it's a serious issue that I really could imagine Santana getting sucked into. Just trust me when I promise a happy ending! Also, I'm not just using Karofsky as the token "bad guy," there's a reason for his role and it will all be explained soon enough. So please don't flame me saying that he's actually a nice guy, etc. I'm actually beginning to forgive his character on the show, but for this story I need his darker qualities. For now, please let me know what you think of this first chapter and if you have any questions concerning the content/plot you know you're free to message me! **


	2. Whore Paint

**AN: Hey, guys! Here's the second chapter! Judging by all the reviews, alerts, and favorites I figured you must want more, and thanks for that by the way! I'm glad you like it even though it is a bit different from my other stories. This chapter isn't as dark as the last and it even has a few bits of fluff thrown in here and there. Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

**P.S. Finding Santana updates are coming in a day or two! :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – Whore Paint<p>

…_she's got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain…I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain…_

The music blasting from the radio was nearly drowned out by Santana's voice as she sang along with the lyrics while applying her makeup in the bathroom mirror. Olivia sat on the countertop beside her, mouthing her own words into the handle of a hairbrush. Weekend nights may have been hellish for Santana, but spending the afternoons with her daughter made them worthwhile. It reminded her that she wasn't suffering through a degrading job and dysfunctional relationship for nothing – it was all for Olivia and that made it okay.

_ …her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by…_

"Can I go to work with you, mami!" Olivia suddenly asked, interrupting her mother's singing.

The implications pained her, but Santana couldn't help but grin as she held her lipstick near her mouth. "I don't think so, baby," she laughed, and then paused to smooth the ruddy red color onto her lips. Once she was finished, she took the little girl's face in her hands and used her cheeks to get rid of the excess color, making her squirm and scrunch her nose.

"Mami, stop!" she giggled, trying to get away from the woman who continued to peck her cheeks.

"There, all finished!" Santana announced triumphantly as she pulled away and inspected her work.

Olivia rubbed at her forehead where the final lipstick print had been left and wore a playful scowl. "I wanna try!"

"Try what?"

Picking up the lipstick from the countertop, Olivia began opening the tube but before she could Santana took it away. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about letting her daughter play with part of her whore's costume, but as she stared at the tube and then at the marks she had left on Olivia's cheeks she decided that it was harmless. "Okay, pucker up," she said and then found herself smiling again at the exaggerated pout that resulted.

"This doesn't taste good," Olivia observed as she stuck her tongue out to run it over her lips.

Santana shook her head and recapped the lipstick. "Well, you're not supposed to eat it, you little goofball!" Olivia continued to giggle impishly while standing up on the countertop, causing Santana to react and reach out a hand to steady her.

"What are you doing way up there?" Santana asked, tilting her head up to meet her daughter's shining eyes as she held her waist. The little girl's tender features always served to remind her that she had done at least one thing right in her life. She just tried to ignore the fact that she was chipping away at Olivia's innocence by letting her grow up in such a horrid situation, but it really wasn't that easy to ignore.

"This!" Olivia exclaimed, taking Santana's face in her hands and pressing a wet kiss to her forehead.

"Thanks, baby," Santana said, smiling even though she would have to retouch her makeup afterward. A few sloppy kisses were nothing; she was just glad she had finally broken her of her licking phase.

A sudden banging on the bathroom door interrupted their moment of fun and had Santana gasping and her heart racing. Dave could never do anything calmly or gently, everything he did was brutish and unforgiving just as it had always been and Santana's instinctive reaction was to place herself between Olivia and his still hidden figure.

"Santana!"

"Yeah," she tried to say as nonchalantly as possible while opening the door. She even forced the barest hint of a smile. She wanted to appear normal and she certainly didn't want him to know that no matter the situation, she was frightened of him. "What's up?"

"Phone for you…" He held the device towards her in his bear-like hand and his brow rose as he noticed the smudged lipstick on both of the girls. Santana went to take it, her own hand wrapping around the top. But when she went to pull it away Dave held it tightly. "It's a woman," he said lowly, his eyes studying her.

Santana realized that whoever was on the phone was probably able to hear their conversation and she tried to quell her frustration. "Half of the world's population is composed of women," she said back, her voice almost a hiss. The caller would also serve as a witness if need be and she knew that Dave wouldn't dare try anything while the line was open.

"Whatever," he whispered, lowering his face and making Santana's pulse rush a little faster. "You just better get that whore paint off my daughter." And with that, he walked off. Probably to go back to his spot on the worn couch to watch whatever sports happened to be playing on a Saturday afternoon.

After taking a deep breath, Santana raised the phone to her ear. Honestly, she was curious about who would be calling her. It wasn't like she had any friends, she and her mother only conversed every few months, and she hadn't spoken to her father in years; the phone didn't really ring off the hook for her. "Hello?"

"Hi! Is this Santana Karofsky, formerly Lopez?"

Santana's face immediately screwed up in confusion and she held the phone away from her for a moment, looking at it in disbelief. The voice sounded so familiar, but it just couldn't be who she was picturing in her mind. "Um, yeah…it is…"

"This is Rachel Berry, from Glee! How are you, Santana!"

Hearing that name was akin to a slap in the face for Santana and she had taken enough blows to the face to know what that certain type of shock and sting felt like. Never would she have imagined speaking to Rachel Berry, who happened to be her own personal font of pet peeves throughout high school, ever again. They had only dealt with one another because they were made to, because there was usually someone holding Santana back when she lit into Spanish and tried to physically maim the smaller girl.

Santana just never would have imagined the woman who she had watched accept two Grammy's on national television trying to contact her over half a decade later, especially not after what had transpired between them around Valentine's Day of their junior year. They had never cared for each other.

_"The truth is, Santana, you can dish it out, but you can't take it! Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I am destined to play the title role in the Broadway musical version of Willow, but the only job you're going to have is working on a pole!"_

_The day had shaped up to be particularly hellacious for Santana and somewhere between listening to the voice shouting in her head and the voices shouting below her former bedroom, she had been reduced to heavy, anguished sobs. She sat on the bed, her knees drawn closely to her chest as a typical argument between her newly divorced parents raged on. _

"_Why can't she live with you? You __**obviously**__ have more money!"_

"_Why should I let her live here? Then I'll just have to deal with another stupid whore like you!"_

_Throughout her life she had felt moments of being unwanted, unloved, and helpless, but she had never had the universe be so cruel to her in just the span of a few hours. And as she childishly cried into a pillow in hopes that no one would hear, she wondered if the classmates who had just openly berated her would ever guess that for being someone so self-important, she actually had no one to really care for her. Her confidence was a characteristic so well acted that she could have put that uppity, loudmouth Rachel to shame. _

_"Santana! Santana!" her mother yelled angrily from the hallway as she stomped towards the bedroom. Their impromptu trip from Lima Heights Adjacent to Santana's father's house – the house she had grown up in until just a few months prior – was meant to be a mission to pawn her off, but it had undoubtedly backfired. _

_ The door flew open and smashed into the drywall behind it, leaving a small indentation from the knob. Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, not caring a bit about damaging her ex-husband's property. "Grab some more of your shit while you're here," she nearly spat, and then turned to leave. "We're leaving…"_

_ "I don't want to leave," Santana dared to whisper, voice cracking in a way that made her feel worthless and weak. Actually, she did want to leave, she just didn't want to go back to her mother's shoddy apartment either. A life lived as someone's inconvenience was confusing and she didn't even know where she should want to be. "Please, can we just –"_

_ "Look, Santana!" the older woman barked, swiftly rounding on her daughter. "I don't know what you want from me, but just get a bag, get your shit, and meet me in the car! I don't feel like dealing with you today!"_

_ "Or any day," Santana whispered to herself, before getting off the bed and beginning to place some of her belongings from her childhood room into her backpack. _

After that afternoon, Santana had promised herself that she wouldn't let a bunch of show choir freaks define who she would become. She also had promised herself that despite witnessing her parents' awful divorce she would still allow herself to find love. Even if she had been scared of it at the time, she was determined to find it. And then when she had a child of her own someday, she was going to take all of the distaste her parents had for her and turn it into love for her baby, love that she had never truly known.

Most of that plan was a complete failure and that became brilliantly clear upon hearing Rachel's voice for the first time since graduation day.

"Um, hey…I'm good," Santana answered slowly, still trying to make her brain function properly to deal with the unexpected situation. "How are you?" she asked out of customary practice. She tried to inject a bit of a chipper quality into her tone, but she figured that if Rachel was calling her then she also must've remembered her usual attitude. "How did you get my number?"

Just as Santana somehow expected, Rachel started in on a litany in answering the two simple questions she had asked her. "I'm doing great!" she chirped excitedly. "I'm fresh off the Broadway stage and now I'm going to be staying with my fathers for the summer until I have to go back to New York in the fall. Oh, and I got your number from your mother. I looked her up since I couldn't find yours."

_Greeaaat! You got it from my mother whom I hardly speak to… _"Oh, well, that's good I guess. You said you'll be staying _all_ summer?" As the words left her mouth, Santana's eyes met Olivia's for a moment and she could tell she was being silently questioned; sometimes Olivia was much too perceptive for her young age. With a reassuring smile, she patted the little girl's head and received a slow smile in return.

"Yes, all summer!" came the ecstatic response, "That's actually why I called, I was wondering if you would maybe want to get together for lunch or evening drinks sometime? My fathers told me that you have a daughter now, I'd love to meet her!" Across town in a neighborhood much nicer than the one her conversation partner lived in, Rachel was staring at the many bedazzled items in her old bedroom and noticing that Santana had become considerably soft spoken with age.

At hearing Rachel's request, Santana felt all words leave her. There was no possible way she would be meeting with her former classmate, so instead she tried to create a diversion by discussing her daughter. "Yeah, I do have a daughter, she's four now," she said, finding herself smiling all the more when Olivia's head snapped up at the mention of her. "And we could probably get together sometime, I'll call you to set something up."

"Perfect! I can't wait! Let me just give you my cell phone number –"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Santana slyly interrupted, knowing that if she didn't have the number then she would have a better excuse for why she didn't call back. "I'll just call your dads' house. I'll talk to you soon, good catching up, bye!"

"B –"

A click rudely cut Rachel off and allowed Santana to breathe a sigh of relief. She could only hope that she would never have to talk to the wannabe diva turned true, talented Broadway star again.

"Mami, who was you talking to?" Olivia asked, while she fiddled with a hair clip. Opening its teeth lined jaws and then letting it close on her tiny fingers like it was some sort of beastly creature.

"Were, Olivia, we say 'who _were_ you talking to?'" Santana corrected gently, while wetting a cotton ball with makeup remover. She rubbed the remover over Olivia's left cheek and held her chin so she couldn't wiggle her face away. "It was someone I went to school with a long time ago."

"Your friend?"

"No, she wasn't exactly my friend," Santana said absently as she finished with Olivia and then swiped at the lipstick on her own forehead. "Just someone I knew."

The passing of one short hour brought upset and the typical weekend heartache for Santana as she had to pry Olivia off her legs and guide her into Dave's arms.

"Don't go, mami," Olivia sobbed, just as she did every time that Santana had to leave to go to work for the evening. She grunted pitifully as she flailed and kicked, trying to get back on the floor from where Dave was holding her against his chest. "Don't leave me!"

"Hey, shh," Santana murmured, taking one of the girl's hands after slinging a black duffel bag over her shoulder. "I'm not leaving you, you know that," she told her, reaching up to kiss her cheek and wipe some of her tears away. "I'll only be gone for the night and then when you wake up tomorrow, I'll be here. You'll be fine, you're going to have fun watching movies with daddy, okay? Remember the movies we picked out?"

"Yeah, Livy, don't you want to watch Pocahontas with me?" Dave asked. His tone was somewhat halfhearted but Santana appreciated it nonetheless. Olivia nodded but that didn't prevent the silent tears from falling as she kept her dark eyes trained on her mother.

It made Santana feel awful because she knew that Olivia truly didn't want anything to do with her father; she was afraid of him, as she had admitted on numerous occasions. But Santana could at least be comforted by the fact that Dave had never harmed their daughter – not physically anyway. One could only assume that having to witness her father beat her mother into bloody submission caused its fair share of emotional harm.

After kissing Olivia's cheek once more, Santana untangled their fingers and backed away. "I'm going to go now. You be good tonight and have fun, okay? I love you…"

"No, no…" Olivia began whining again, using her small hands to push at Dave's chest. "Don't go, please, mami!"

Santana resisted reaching out and taking the hand Olivia was extending to her and decided to blow her a kiss instead. "See you tomorrow, baby girl," she said quietly, before having to turn her back on the stressful scene. As she opened and closed the front door, her own eyes became misty as Olivia's sobs carried over and pierced her heart. Her only hope as she left was that Olivia would learn to forgive her and that the evening would somehow be better than the afternoon.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

And it was. Actually, it was much better. When she wasn't being groped by letches, Santana was sometimes lucky enough to get the first-timer; the fresh faced, innocent eighteen-year-old kid who was too nervous to actually touch her and too dumbstruck to stop shoving money into her panties and cleavage.

Her above average night was exactly why she had woken Olivia with chocolate chip pancakes in bed, followed by a trip to the park. Sometimes Santana lived in her own personal nightmare and other times she got to enjoy an early summer morning with her daughter, forgetting about everything she had and was doing wrong in her life.

"Are we goin' to see the ducks now!" Olivia hastily asked, as they walked along a paved path flanked by lush, green grass.

Santana chuckled and let Olivia swing their linked hands back and forth in a jerky, wild fashion. "For the fiftieth time – yes! We are going to see the ducks now!"

Although she had a love/hate relationship with going to visit the ducks, there was no denying that Olivia loved the activity, just as someone else had – her first best friend and her first and only love, Brittany S. Pierce. As Santana had come to learn, there was nothing life liked to do better than kick her when she was down. So, while she had been struggling to find the right words to reveal their love to the rest of the people in her life, Brittany had gotten an opportunity to work in a dance studio in Los Angeles and because she loved her, she had let her go. Since then, she hadn't seen her and eventually she stopped talking to her as well. She had gotten over it with time because there was no other option, but she would have been lying if she said that she didn't feel the aftershocks of everything that she and the blonde used to be.

"Mami, babies!" A high pitched squeal of excitement tore Santana from her memories and before she knew it Olivia was off like a shot, half way to the pond in just a matter of seconds.

"Livy!" she screamed after her, already breaking into a sprint. After dancing throughout the entire night before it wasn't the best feeling for her feet, but all she could see was the pond's steep bank, the flock of tiny, fuzzy ducklings at the edge of the water, and her daughter, running as fast as her short legs would take her. "Olivia!"

Just as Olivia lost her balance where the grass began to slope downward, the dark haired woman with the great ass who had been jogging ahead of them slid in behind her. Grabbing the little girl around the waist, she caught her just before she would have toppled head first into the water.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Santana hissed under her breath as she made it to the scene. She wasn't sure if she really believed in any of those three individuals or anyone they happened to be related to, but she was pretty sure that she owed someone a prayer for Olivia's mysterious savior.

Due to the commotion the ducklings scattered, causing Olivia to break into sad cries in the woman's arms. "Hey, it's okay. They'll come back." Santana could hear the woman saying, and then as she turned around she realized just who had rescued her daughter.

"Is this yours?" Rachel asked as she pivoted on her running shoes. When her eyes found a winded Santana her mouth dropped open in surprise and her gaze darted between her high school classmate and the little girl she was holding. "Santana!"

"Holy shit…" was all the Latina was able to pant, as she placed her hands on her knees and tried to remember what breathing felt like. She heard an all too familiar giggle and then Rachel was hugging her like all social castes and reputations that once separated them had been forgotten. She was hanging onto Santana as if they were old friends instead of girls who were once pitted against each other.

"Oh, geez! I'm sorry!" Rachel suddenly gushed, pulling away and turning off her iPod. "I probably got sweat all over you!"

Santana found herself in a bit of a stupor. Everything had caught her off guard and just as Rachel had suggested, when they're cheeks had pressed together she could feel her flushed, dewy skin against hers. The shorter brunette did smell like sweat, along with feminine perfume, sweet scented shampoo, and the delicacy that only a woman could possess.

Patting her shoulder, Rachel prompted with, "Say something!"

"Hang on a sec, let me just finish having this heart attack," Santana breathed. The adrenaline pumping through her was beginning to ebb but her heart was still beating furiously. "Okay," she said after a few seconds. "I think I'll live."

During the course of their embrace, Olivia had sought refuge behind her mother's legs and clung to them to hide from Rachel. She held the belt loops of jean and peeked around a hip to curiously study the stranger.

"So, who's this little runaway cutie?" Rachel asked with a beaming smile. Kneeling down, she brought herself to Olivia's level – which wasn't much lower than her own – and offered her hand. Olivia only scowled in response and moved her face out of view.

"This is Olivia, or Livy for short," Santana said, reaching around to gently urge Olivia from behind her. Her own smile was surprisingly bright as well, for it wasn't very often that she got to show off her incredibly adorable little girl.

"Hey there, Olivia! I'm Rachel, I went to school with your mommy." It was obvious that Rachel was expecting a response after the warm greeting, but she should have known that any child of Santana's was going to be stubborn by default. Her face fell as Olivia ducked behind Santana again, glaring at her evilly.

Rolling her eyes a little, Santana once again pulled Olivia from behind her and held her hand, letting her know that everything was secure. "She's just a little shy," she explained. It was true, but the reason behind the girl's shyness was heartbreaking.

"Aww!" Rachel exclaimed as she stood back up. She found Santana's eyes and conveyed something like tenderness and admiration into them, and it made the Latina want to look away. "She's gorgeous, just like her mother," the petite woman went on.

Santana laughed uneasily and almost jumped when Rachel reached out to grasp her hand, squeezing and then releasing. "Thanks," she replied, almost finding herself blushing under the weight of the compliment and the sudden touch. Rachel had never been afraid of saying exactly what she thought, but to hear something so sincere was unnerving for Santana. To distract from what had been said, she turned her attention to Olivia, asking, "Livy, don't you want to say hi to Rachel?"

"No!" was Olivia's curt reply, accompanied by her jauntily crossing her arms over her chest.

"Olivia," Santana gently chided, nudging her shoulder. "Where are your manners?"

At that, the little girl's shoulders slumped and her arms fell to her sides. She studied the ground for a moment before looking up to her mother questioningly. "It's okay, baby, say hi" Santana assured. Then, without being prompted or even expected to, Olivia stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist and then whispered, "Hi…"

"Aww, hi, sweetheart," Rachel gushed once again, leaning down to put a hand around her new acquaintance's small shoulders while the other cradled her head against her lower stomach. "She's so precious."

Santana was thoroughly shocked and a bit frightened all at once. She had never seen Olivia be so open to anyone so quickly and it had to be Rachel Berry of all people. As she was still trying to process the entire situation, her daughter continued to surprise her further by beginning to chatter away at Rachel.

"Can you make the ducks come back?" Olivia questioned, looking up at the woman who she had just befriended. "I wanna see the babies."

"Well, let me see what I can do," Rachel said, before surveying the pond for where the feathered creatures had swam off to. They were just a few yards up the bank, floating like puffballs on the water while their mother swam idly around them. "I think I have an idea," Rachel announced, and then picked Olivia up and held her on her hip. "We won't wait for the ducks to come to us, we'll just go to the ducks."

Olivia squeaked her excitement, but Santana wasn't sold on the whole idea. It was too strange to suddenly be sharing her morning with Rachel, someone who had suddenly turned up after years apart. Their lives were too different now and the Latina didn't need any of her demons sinking their claws into Rachel. "Rachel, you don't have to do that…I'll take her, come on, Livy."

"It's fine," Rachel insisted in a bubbly tone, as she rubbed Olivia's back. "We're pals now!"

Santana wanted to stop the other woman, but seeing Olivia happy and smiling and trusting someone who only moments ago had been a stranger had her torn. All she could do was follow Rachel along the path as she spoke animatedly with Olivia and Olivia actually spoke back.

* * *

><p><strong>So, a can of worms has definitely been opened for Santana! More will be revealed in the next chapter as well as the continuation of their little duck pond adventure! :) <strong>


	3. Fantasy Land

**AN: Hey guys, here's chapter three! There's not really much to explain for this one, just that its kind of the chapter that sets everything into motion. There's nothing too triggery and there's actually a few cute moments thrown in, with lots of S/R interaction. Thanks for all of the reviews, favorites, and alerts so far, it's definitely encouraging when it comes to a story with such heavy subject matter. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – Fantasy Land<p>

If Santana would have known that her meant-to-be carefree morning with her daughter was going to be intercepted by one Rachel Berry, she probably would have stayed home. Or at least found somewhere else to go other than the park Rachel used to frequent when they were in high school and apparently still had an affinity for. But instead, she had to settle for watching her old classmate charm her daughter into a friendship while she hung back, sitting down on the grass to oversee the situation.

It was safe to say that Olivia had forgotten about Santana for the time being in favor of Rachel's arm around her small waist and a wordy conversation revolving around ducklings. In her own head, Santana had to admit to herself that the picture of domestic bliss before her – the little girl and the beautiful woman laughing together in the early sunlight – was nothing less than adorable. It was like something out one of her most well hidden fantasies, like something she knew she would only ever know in her dreams. When she had been young and secretly optimistic she had imagined like scenarios where Brittany held the starring role and the kids running around had blonde hair and too blue eyes. But the past was the past and Santana had lived enough to know that being optimistic didn't carry much weight for women like her.

With a sigh, the Latina checked the time on her cell phone and silently regretted that she was going to have to interrupt the fun Olivia was having. But in a moment of selfishness she had decided that having her mind automatically incorporate Rachel into her wife-and-kids fantasy was a mighty fine reason for her to want to escape. "Livy," she called, "Not too much longer, okay? We have to go home soon."

Olivia, having suddenly been interrupted in one of the worst possible ways for a four-year-old, turned her distressed eyes to Rachel and then to her mother. "Why?" she whined back, her lower lip falling into a pout.

As Santana paused and obviously tried to give a reason that she could actually utter out loud, Rachel quietly added, "I'd have to agree…you just got here. Why do you have to leave already?"

Santana's cynical side jumped to the defense and the first thing she wanted to spit at Rachel was a venomous insult, because really who was she to ask questions when the only reason they had even come in contact with each other after years apart was due to random coincidence. The fact that her daughter was standing there and that her sharp tongue had dulled to those who weren't an immediate threat kept her quiet though, gaping while fishing for an answer.

After breaking the awkward eye contact, Rachel ran her fingertips through Olivia's ponytail and spoke lightly to her. "I'm going to go talk to your mommy for a few minutes. You can stay here with the ducklings, but don't go too close to the edge. I'd have to go for a swim to save you and I didn't bring my bikini," she teased.

Olivia grinned up at her, giving her the crooked smile that revealed just how much of a little devil she could be, but promising, "I won't!"

"Good," Rachel laughed and then turned toward Santana, making her have a newfound fascination with the blades of grass she was sitting on.

The grass was soft and smooth, but ever since the word bikini had been thrown out Santana was imagining that Rachel's bare skin would feel just as amazing. And along with her inappropriate thoughts came her acute appreciation for the maternal qualities that seemed to be naturally oozing from the other woman. So, Santana not only wanted to watch Rachel be endearing and tuck Olivia into bed, she also wanted to tear her clothes off and take _her_ to bed afterwards.

_Get a grip, you're married, _the Latina told herself as the figure of her current affections sat down beside her.

"Can I be brutally honest with you, Santana?" Rachel asked, her voice even and not revealing whether or not her foray into said honesty would be negative or positive.

Shrugging, Santana looked out over the water and made sure to keep Olivia in her line of vision. "I think we always have been quite brutally honest with each other. Wouldn't you agree?"

The comment was meant to be a painful barb; plain, simple, and to the point. They each knew what Santana was referring to and Rachel paused for a few seconds, looking away self consciously and letting herself feel the full stinging effects. "I feel like you want to avoid me," she eventually admitted as they both watched Olivia and heard her nonsense babbling in the background. "And if that's true, just tell me. I know we weren't really friends and if this is making you uncomfortable, then I'm sorry and we can just go our separate ways again."

Santana just continued to study Olivia, not wanting to meet Rachel's eyes and see the disappointment that she could so clearly hear in her voice. The events of both the morning and the day before had completely blindsided her and while normally she was adept to lying about many subjects, she just couldn't help but think that maybe it really would be best to be as honest as she could be.

"Well, I guess you caught me. After we spoke yesterday I had no intention of calling you – ever," Santana said, giving an admission of her own.

Nodding absently, Rachel said slowly, "I see…"

"I guess I just feel a little guilty suddenly acting like we're old friends, because like you said, we weren't," Santana explained, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to keep Rachel at a distance and out of her messy life. Instinctively, she couldn't help but be drawn to a familiar and friendly face but she just knew that there were more cons to letting the petite brunette in than there were pros.

"I know…" Rachel replied softly, her lips twitching into a half smile that seemed somewhere between sad and regretful.

As she spoke she looked away and Santana studied her profile with a sudden ache in her chest. She usually fared well in the art of locking up her feelings, but for some reason countless, nameless emotions were being dredged up by a woman she hadn't seen in years and she didn't know why. She couldn't be sure if it was the blast from the past, or the reminder that she was the one who had failed the hardest out of her classmates, or something else entirely. _I hardly even know you anymore and then suddenly you're killing me…_

"We weren't friends, we had our rough times," Rachel went on in confirmation and then turned to meet Santana's eyes whether she wanted the contact or not. Their impromptu conversation in the park had gotten much more serious than either of them could have imagined. "But we were just kids. We've grown up since then and I just feel like maybe now is our chance to actually become true friends to one another. We did share some good times together…" She paused hopefully and smiled the same sad smile that she had worn only moments before. "Didn't we? Going to Nationals two years in a row, losing Nationals two years in a row, trying to occasionally kill each other…that meant something, right? I mean...even through the drama I cared about everyone in Glee club, including you, Santana."

Santana swallowed thickly and knew that Rachel spoke the truth; she had always had a genuine, caring quality about her, even for the people that had wronged her time and time again.

_As Rachel Berry took to the stage to accept her very first Grammy, she sparkled in her sleekly cut golden evening dress with her hair swept over one shoulder, but it was her smile that truly radiated her beauty. She looked like an old Hollywood starlet when actually she was a fresh face to the business, and no cameras or glitzy trophies could outshine her. _

_Typical to her nature, she was attempting to hold back her tears as soon as she gripped the microphone in her hand. And unbeknownst to her, half a world away Santana Lopez was sitting in her living room with proud tears already tracking her cheeks. _

_"…I'd like to thank my family and of course, I have to thank my Broadway family, but there's also another group of people that I hold close…and that's my high school Glee club. If any of you are watching, I just want to thank you all for being patient with me, for being some of my biggest fans and my toughest critics. You all helped me through the first steps of reaching my dreams whether you were aware of it or not. So, from the bottom of my heart…Mr. Schuester, Finn, Puck, Lauren, Quinn, Brittany, Arty, Mercedes, Kurt, Sam, Mike, Tina…"_

_ "She won't say it," Santana whispered to no one aside from the sleeping toddler in her arms. _

_ "…and last, but certainly not least, Santana…thank you, thank you all so much. You'll always be my first musical family and I love you all. Goodnight everyone…"_

_ The admiration Santana felt for the now mature woman on her television screen increased exponentially as did her own disgust with herself. Rachel's speech had been heartfelt and sincere, and in all the times that Santana had ever fantasized about making it big outside of Lima, Ohio her first thought had been to give everyone she had attended high school with a big, celebratory 'fuck you.' It only cemented the reasons why she was twenty-one years old, raising a baby, and still stuck in Ohio while the girl she had criticized for all the time she had known her was being blinded by the paparazzi flash of good fortune. _

"I know you did," Santana stated honestly, although there was really nothing else to say. The truth was the truth no matter if she hated it or not. "I could never figure out why, but you always did."

"We grew up together," Rachel shrugged.

Even though she rolled her eyes at the comment – three or four years were hardly justifiable as growing up together – Santana couldn't really deny the truth in it either. "I guess so…"

Seconds later, Olivia chose that moment to interrupt with her newest find – a dandelion that had gone white and fuzzy with seeds. "Look!" she innocently demanded and held the flower out to Rachel.

"A dandelion? For me?" Rachel asked, reaching out to take the delicate stem. Olivia's head bobbed up and down in agreement and Santana smiled at how gentle and sweet her daughter was despite the things she had seen in her life.

Humoring the little girl standing in front of her, Rachel brought the flower to her nose even though there was no real scent to be smelled. "Thank you, Olivia, but do you know what to do with dandelions?"

"What!" Olivia asked brightly. She had become so comfortable that it seemed like nothing to her to rest her small hand on Rachel's shoulder as she stood beside her. With every little touch and gesture Santana's smile subconsciously grew, but her heart sunk further as well.

"Well," Rachel began, as she traced her fingertip over the dandelions soft surface. "When I was a little girl my daddies taught me that when you make a wish and then blow away all these little fuzzy things, someday your wish will come true…"

"Show me!" Olivia exclaimed, her hand grasping at Rachel's tank top strap with excitement.

Giggling a little at the nostalgia and cuteness of it all, Rachel brought the dandelion to her lips and then used her choir conditioned lungs to send all of the tiny seeds floating into the air. "And that's how it's done," she announced, handing the empty stem back to Olivia. "Now, you try!"

"'Kay!"

The two older brunettes watched in amusement as Olivia searched for more dandelions in the lawn surrounding them and then Santana spoke up, saying, "Easily entertained."

"As any innocent little girl should be," Rachel added. She couldn't have known that Santana's mind was wandering just as much as her own and she definitely would not have imagined that some of those wanderings shared uncanny similarities. "She's gorgeous," she said absentmindedly, her eyes following Olivia and the bouncing ponytail that had felt so silky between her fingertips.

"You already said that," Santana pointed out. "But thank you." She was more than happy to dance around the elephant that seemed to have gotten loose in the park.

"I wanted to say it again." Then, Rachel drew a deep breath, slapped her hands on the grass and materialized a dazzling smile. "So! What were we talking about?"

The Latina laughed despite herself. "Nothing that cheery – _ow!_" As she was speaking one of the tiny white fuzzes had traveled away from Olivia and into Santana's eyelashes, making her raise a hand to her face. Her hand wasn't the only one moving towards her face in order to help though and soon Rachel's wrist was trapped in her hand, clutched in a death grip.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Rachel chuckled sheepishly and lowered her hand without a second thought. "I was just going to get it for you."

"Oh…" Santana replied lamely after having removed the fuzz herself.

"Wait, there's another one," the petite brunette said, this time raising her hand a little more slowly to Santana's eye. She carefully removed the second fuzz that had been stuck to the other and the pad of her pinky finger just barely grazed against an unknowingly sore cheekbone. "There…all better…"

_I wish. _Santana looked down to prevent herself from feeling so close to the woman who was now leaning into her; their close proximity couldn't be helped, but if she didn't look into her eyes then at least it wouldn't seem so intense. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched so tenderly and thinking back to the last thing that had gotten caught in her eyelashes, she was reminded of just how tainted and jaded she had become.

"You have long eyelashes," Rachel suddenly whispered, because that was all she needed to do when they were only inches apart.

Santana's eyes flickered up to Rachel's and an alarm went off in her head, telling her to pull back but not before accidentally resting her gaze on full, pink lips for a moment. "I-I…"

Upon hearing the stutter, Rachel dropped her hand back to her lap and fell into her own personal space. _God, what am I doing? She's married! _"Well, I guess I should finish my jog. I still have some unpacking to finish this afternoon."

"Right, yeah, of course," Santana answered a little too fast while nodding hastily. "You can go, you're probably busy…you don't have to stay here with us."

Rachel gave a short, humorless laugh as she stood up and quietly said, "I'm not so sure you really want me to anyway." She pulled her tank top down and smoothed her palms against the clingy material covering the fronts of her thighs. It was a nervous tic that Santana could recognize from the past and it made her feel bad that she was causing it much like she had when they were teenagers. "I guess I'll just maybe see you around, Santana. Or, you know, not…I don't know, whatever you want," Rachel finished in an uncharacteristically flustered manner, before glancing at a preoccupied Olivia and beginning to walk away.

Santana glumly turned around to watch her retreat, but only allowed her to make it back to the paved path before getting up and going after her. "Rachel, wait!"

Turning around with a half-hearted smile, Rachel uttered, "Yes?" Being one of Broadway's youngest and most successful actresses didn't mean that she was without insecurities. Sometimes the deeply rooted fear of being rejected still haunted her and she hadn't felt it so strongly since abruptly finding herself face to face with one of her oldest, cruelest foes.

"I'm sorry," Santana said, raising one of her hands in surrender and then letting it drop back down to her side. "This whole thing just caught me off guard…I haven't really talked to anyone from high school in a very long time and now suddenly you're here and you're…you're like this completely different person now, you're like a celebrity. You could be doing better things with your time than catching up with a Lima loser like me."

The Latina smiled after dealing herself the insult to counteract the harshness, but that didn't keep Rachel from wincing slightly and saying, "You know I'm not like that and I hope you know that just because you've chosen to stay in Lima and have a family that doesn't make you any type of loser."

"It doesn't exactly make me a Broadway star though, does it?"

Santana's tone was light enough but the bitterness was still evident. She could see the annoyance spark in Rachel's eyes over her thinly concealed, persistent attitude and she hoped that her attempts would work. _I'm trying to push you away, why can't you realize it?_

_ I'm trying to give us a second chance, why won't you take it?_ Rachel thought to herself as she held the gaze of brown eyes that were even darker than her own. Finally, shaking her head to clear away any pessimistic thoughts, she made the decision to not let Santana win. "Look, I realize that this was a chance meeting that neither of us was ready for, so let's start over again," she suggested, cheerfulness coming back to her. "Some night this week when you're not busy let's go get drinks – nothing too fancy, just a chance to talk."

Santana breathed in and thought over the week ahead. Dave would be busy with the construction company he worked for; the impending summer months making the shifts longer and keeping her husband out of the house. There would be plenty of opportunities for her to meet Rachel without him knowing, while Olivia could stay with her grandparents, his parents. And oddly enough, the thought of a mini retreat was appealing even if her companion was someone she used to think she hated.

"Let's make it a happy hour and you have yourself a deal," Santana finally broke down. "Can't stay out too late when you have kiddies to take care of, you know?"

"Perfect!" Rachel chirped as her eyes lit with genuine pleasure. "How about Wednesday afternoon, four o'clock?"

"That'd work…" Santana was already formulating backup scenarios in her head if her plan were to fail and she found herself having to explain to Dave why she was out alone with a woman, especially a woman with whom she had history.

"Then it's a date!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"This is not a date, stop checking the mirror," Santana whispered to herself, before exiting her car in the driveway of the older Karofskys' house. Olivia had already managed to escape her booster seat and was excitedly running laps around the car; it wasn't often that she got to see her very doting grandparents.

"There's my favorite grandbaby!"

"Grandma!"

As Santana pulled a bag from the passenger seat she had to smile at hearing the kind voice and Olivia's subsequent squeal. Paul and Linda Karofsky couldn't have known that they had unknowingly raised a monster and Santana didn't blame them for it. She was just thankful that they hadn't kicked her to the curb when she and Dave had sat in their living room and confessed that she was pregnant at nineteen. She knew that her own parents would have disowned her, that was if they hadn't practically done so after she had graduated anyway.

"And there's my favorite daughter," Linda said as she swept Santana into a crushing hug.

Santana was always glad when she could hide the sheepish smile and blush that formed whenever her in-laws called her their daughter. It was just something she could never get used to and she still marveled over the fact that they had so easily accepted her into their family when not even her own family had done the same. Though it wasn't the best feeling to know that the only parents to love her were ones she could never get close to because they belonged to a man who hated her as well.

"I feel like I haven't seen you girls in forever! So, how have you been, sweetheart?" the older woman asked, pushing the Latina arm's distance away to look at her and give her a broad smile. "You look so beautiful! Are you going out with friends tonight?"

"Mami es muy bonita!" Olivia suddenly shouted, showing off for her grandmother, who immediately took the bait. While on the other hand, Santana was becoming internally aggravated over everyone telling her how beautiful she looked as of late. She thought maybe they were lying, because to her there was really no way to feel anything but repulsive when caked in makeup to hide a fading black eye.

"Oh, that Spanish is just the cutest thing!" she gushed, squeezing Santana's shoulder as she did. "I hope you keep teaching her as she gets older!"

Santana continued to smile bashfully. "Thanks and I'll try to keep teaching her, although I have to admit my own Spanish is getting a little rusty." The reality of the situation was that Dave hated it when Olivia spoke Spanish and Santana used it as her own spiteful tool to annoy him. Her own skill being rusty was her explanation when asked if she would keep teaching her daughter the language, but that didn't explain why Olivia would start parroting out new words every so often. "And I am going out with friends – well, _a_ friend. One of my old classmates is in town…you've probably heard the name Rachel Berry."

"She's in town?" Linda gasped with eyes wide. "I just saw her on the cover of one of those gossip magazines at the grocery store a few weeks ago! She didn't really get a nose job did she?"

"No," Santana laughed and then transferred Olivia's bag to the other woman's shoulder. "Despite me telling her in high school that she had a beak big enough to crack hard seeds, she did not get a nose job and I'm pretty sure she won't."

Linda then nudged her daughter-in-law's shoulder while still looking shocked over the fact that Lima's local celebrity was in town. "You didn't really say that to her, did you?"

"I did…" Santana said guiltily, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "But I think tonight I'm going to apologize for all that…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

The location that Rachel had chosen was the most newly revamped bar in Lima and considering that Santana worked in a "real" bar, she could only classify the place she had just walked into as an upscale cocktail lounge. She located the petite brunette easily and walked up to take the high barstool across from her, pulling her attention away from one of the flat screen TVs on the wall.

"Sorry, I think I'm a little late," Santana apologized as she hooked the strap of her purse over the back of the barstool. "I had to drop Olivia off at Dave's parents' house and I can never get his mom to stop talking."

Rachel ran a hand through her hair and pushed it away from where it had fallen over her eyes. "It's no problem at all. I was just watching this game of…of…" She flicked her hand in the direction of the TV. "You know, that hit the ball with a stick game."

Narrowing her eyes, Santana smirked and looked up to the TV. "Baseball?"

"Yes, that," Rachel agreed with a single nod. "I can just never understand the point behind such an artless pastime. I'd much rather be watching a musical."

"So, in other words, you really haven't changed all that much," Santana laughed. When the waitress sidled up to their table she politely said, "a mojito with extra lime, please," and then something interesting proceeded to happen.

With a piercing expression that could only be described as seductive, Rachel stared down the attractive young woman taking their order. "I'll have a martini – gin, not vodka," she all but demanded while lowering her head and looking up through her lashes. "And I don't think we'll be needing these." As she handed over the black leather bound dinner menus, it was blatantly obvious that she had purposefully extended her fingers to brush against the woman's fingers, before she finished with, "Thanks, sweetheart." The woman then scurried off wearing a shy smile and without even having said a word.

The occurrence was definitely at the top of Santana's crazy list, but luckily there were a few stranger things that she had seen in her life and that fact kept her from gaping like a lunatic. Rachel Berry had game. _Correction_, Rachel Berry had game with women.

"What the fuck was that?" the Latina whispered under her breath, as she leaned further across the small table.

Rachel smirked knowingly as she swiped at her bangs again, adjusted the collar of the white blazer she was wearing and then clasped her hands under her chin. "What was what?"

"Um, hello! Did you forget that I was sitting here while you were so obviously flirting with that chick?"

"Woman," Rachel corrected, and then quirked her arched brow. "And are you jealous?"

_No! Maybe…a little…yes. _Santana nearly guffawed and then stammered to find the right words to try to form a witty comeback. She failed. "No! No, of course not, I'm married! But I…when the fuck did you start digging girls?"

Their conversation paused when the waitress came back to place their drinks on cocktail napkins and Rachel flirted with her eyes a little more before studying the woman's figure as she walked away from them.

"Now, answer the question!" Santana hissed. Tossing and then tilting her head, Rachel exposed more of her collarbone from the v-neck below her blazer. The temperature suddenly spiked in the air conditioned lounge and Santana crossed her legs under the table; her eyes couldn't help but be naturally drawn to the lightly tanned skin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the petite brunette said coyly as she sipped her martini.

Santana's face screwed up in disbelief and she glared hotly at her former classmate. "Bullshit! I knows me some flirtin' when I sees it and you totally just got all up in that girl's business."

"You still talk like that?" Rachel chuckled, making the Latina's glare grow even fiercer. Her plan to tempt Santana into honesty about her sexuality was working perfectly; but Santana didn't need to know that she preferred women over men as well. Not just yet anyway, that would be revealed eventually.

Santana cocked her head, swiftly saying, "When the mood strikes me."

"We're changing the subject…"

"Fine, we'll change the subject," Santana agreed and then spun their bantering to her advantage. "Do you have a significant other? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Pets? Anything?"

"Got me," Rachel shot back more quickly than was expected. "I broke up with my last girlfriend almost a year ago."

The conversation lulled again as Santana looked at her blankly, trying to decide whether or not she was being messed with. She took a sip of her mojito to keep up her poker face but when Rachel didn't budge, she said softly, "Damn, you're serious…didn't see that one coming."

Looking up to the baseball game that she wasn't interested in at all, Rachel sighed and then said, "I had always had an idea of my sexuality from early on…I'm an open person…but Lima, Ohio isn't. With everything that went on at McKinley I wasn't going to give them another reason to tear me apart, so I kept the fact that I was at least bisexual to myself until I got to New York."

"Makes sense…that place was a hell hole," Santana stated in a low, cynical voice. "Probably still is." Difficult memories of the times she spent pouring over her peers' possible reactions to her own sexuality were pulled from the far recesses of her mind and she remembered just how terrified she had been, just how terrified she still was.

As she was momentarily lost in thought, a movement over Rachel's shoulder caught her attention. Looking up and past the brunette, she found a middle aged man turning around in his seat and craning his neck to leer in her direction. "What the hell," Santana said under her breath, just as the man gave her a too friendly smile.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked, and moved to see what was causing the disturbance.

The more Santana studied the man the more familiar looking he became and after awhile she knew she had seen his face somewhere before. She couldn't place the exact location, but the last thing she needed was for one of the strip club frequenters to approach her outside of work. That was the only place where she tended to meet shameless, perverts like the one that was staring at her. "It's nothing, just some pig ogling me over your head."

"A short joke! I should have known that we wouldn't get through the night without one," Rachel laughed good naturedly.

Santana couldn't respond to the ribbing because she couldn't take her eyes from the man, and apparently he couldn't take his from her either. She watched until her pulse began to rush with anxiety, but when he smiled again and then got up from his sit she whipped her head in the opposite direction. "Fuck," she swore quietly, keeping her gaze lowered to the rim of her glass. She could only hope that her worst case scenario was not about to happen. "He's coming over here."

Rachel's face suddenly took on an expression of disgust as she looked over her shoulder again to indeed see a man walking toward them. "This is why I date women," she said in a curt fashion, and then demanded, "Give me your hand."

"Huh?" The Latina barely had time to react before Rachel was suddenly holding her hand in an affectionate grip over the table top and the man was arriving beside them.

"She's not interested," Rachel spat, yet her voice was sickeningly sweet. She smiled tightly at the man and just as his mouth began to open, she added, "She's taken…by me." For emphasis, she squeezed Santana's hand and jiggled it within her own.

When Santana dared to look up she could see the confusion on his features and she could practically feel the humiliating blow she was about to receive. But in a turn of events that she hadn't expected, he only stood there a moment and then said simply, "I apologize…I didn't mean to bother you two."

As he walked away, Rachel said loudly and exaggeratedly, _"Why, thank you!" _Then, she focused a warm smile on Santana. "He won't bother you anymore."

Rapidly extracting her hand, Santana muttered, "Guess not." In her head, she was cursing her awful job and the anxiety inducing close call. "Why did you do that though?" she finally questioned after calming herself down.

"Pretending you're a lesbian to ward off guys?" Rachel scoffed. "Come on, it's a classic! And I happen to love it even more when it's actually true."

Santana's dark brown eyes darted up to meet Rachel's, a little wide and panicked. "What are you talking about?"

"You know…"

"No, actually I don't," the Latina insisted, although the way in which her voice slipped gave her away. The situation she had entered was too much like another ambush she had been involved in; only it had been lead by her and she had been pressuring Dave into admitting his homosexuality.

Rachel clicked her tongue a few times to give Santana a while longer to stall, but she knew that eventually it was going to come out anyway. "Santana," she said, locking eye contact. "I know and it's okay. You loved a girl in high school and I can tell that you still feel that way about women now, you don't have to lie to me."

Anger flared in Santana's veins. "How dare you bring me here to accuse me of something!" she sniped, top lip coming up in a snarl. "And how can you _tell _anyway!"

"Because while I was checking out the waitress, you were checking out me!" Rachel hissed back, ducking her head further over the table to keep their conversation between them.

Santana's hair bounced around her shoulders as she looked around the room, trying to find something to focus on other than her anger and the woman who had caused it. Eventually though, she landed back on her original target and glared as wickedly as she could. "You don't know anything about me," she said, attempting to backtrack.

"I know that you're a lesbian," Rachel whispered softly as her brows came together in sad sympathy. "And now I want to know why you married Dave. Why would you do that to yourself?"

As was typical when she was under stress, Santana began to tear up and no matter how hard she tried to swallow the knot in her throat she just couldn't. She was angry beyond belief, but her other emotions were too great to not take the forefront. "Fine, if you want to butt into my life, I'll let you. If you really want to know why I would do that to myself, I'll tell you," she furiously whispered, uncaring as to whether or not Rachel could see that she was close to crying.

"You know I'll listen," was all that the petite brunette offered.

The Latina huffed a laugh and then with a shaking hand she raised her glass to down the rest of her drink. Once the alcohol was on its way to providing its numbing effects, she sneered and announced, "Well, here it goes…so, after high school I was on my way to coming out but as you can see that didn't work out real well for me. Brittany went off to LA to dance and I got dumped on my ass. Then came the fun stuff, you know, the heartbreak, depression, getting drunk at parties, having sex with meatheads and getting pregnant."

Santana heard Rachel's gasp, but she was past the point of feeling anything for her. If Rachel had no problem luring her out to mock her mess of life then she had no problem giving her the shock fest she wanted. "Luckily, Dave has surprisingly conservative parents and to my great delight they insisted that we get married!" she went on, forcing a fake smile. "In the end, I gave in and I married a man because I was terrified of having a baby alone at nineteen and now here I am! So, what were you saying about me being a lesbian?"

Rachel was sitting straight up in her seat, no longer able to lean in so close to the person who was now practically shouting at her. "Santana, I had…I had no idea that –"

"Of course you didn't!" Santana spat and then tore through her purse for some money to throw on the table. She got up to leave, but just before taking her first step she rounded on Rachel again. "You know, tonight I was going to apologize for everything that I did to you in high school, but I don't really see what the point would be when it's obvious that you haven't changed. You're still that meddling, egotistical diva that only cares about herself! You might think that you're some hot shot celebrity now and that you can just come back and start messing with people's lives, but you can't!"

With pleading, apologetic eyes, Rachel got up from her seat as well. "Please, Santana, it wasn't my intention to –"

"No," Santana said, cutting her off by raising a hand at her. "Just have a good summer in Lima, Rachel, and let's try not to cross paths again."

"Santana, please," Rachel repeated, reaching out to take her wrist as she turned around.

Santana yanked her wrist away as if the light grip had caused her pain and by that point they were causing a scene. So, stepping closer to the stunned looking brunette before her, she angled her lips to her ear and growled, "Don't touch me, don't talk to me, and most importantly…_do not_ refer to Brittany as just a girl."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"How was the date, honey?" Leroy asked his daughter as she came breezing through the front door.

"It wasn't a date, dad," Rachel replied in a short tone, which immediately alerted the older man to something being wrong. "It was atrocious."

"Why?" he asked cautiously.

Rachel threw herself down onto the couch beside her father and glared at the wall. Her own fury with herself was something she hadn't felt in years. "Because instead of bonding with Santana and confiding in each other, I bullied her into a corner and basically beat a confession out of her!"

"A confession about what?"

"A confession about why she's a lesbian who's married to a man!" Rachel shouted.

Leroy pet the top of her hand and then took it within his much larger one. "Hey, calm down…what did she tell you and why were you so set on finding out about it?"

"She told me that it was a marriage of convenience because she got pregnant," Rachel said softly, and then looked up to her father. The longtime regret that she was feeling was clearly etched into her features, from the crease in her brows to the frowning set of her usually smiling mouth. "And I just wanted to know if she was really happy…I said something horrible to her back in high school and ever since then…I-I just hoped that she didn't believe me. I hoped that she would just be herself and be happy."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Why'd you take Livy to my parents' house?" Dave asked through a mouthful of hamburger, as Santana came back into the kitchen after putting their sleeping daughter to bed. Olivia had fallen asleep in the car on the way home and it couldn't have happened better, Santana was just not in the mood to be cheerful for her. Rachel had thoroughly drained her of any will to be positive.

"I had to go to the club for a few hours," she lied. Fortunately, her face wasn't visible to give her away as it had been with Rachel, as she was busy putting ice cubes into a tumbler. The thought of chasing the rum she had consumed with more alcohol crossed her mind, but she ended up running some water to dilute it instead. Drinking really hadn't been part of her lifestyle since she had become pregnant with Olivia.

"In the middle of the week?" Dave questioned without really expecting an answer. "Damn, work those poles, slut."

"Yep," Santana said blandly. It took a little more than a random insult to rile her up and she was just glad that he wasn't interrogating her or worse.

"You didn't say anything to my parents, did you?"

As she leaned against the countertop and glared at the back of Dave's hulking figure, she thought about pitching the tumbler at the back of his head, but then she would be just like him. "What could I possibly say? Oh, by the way, your son likes to beat me when I'm a convenient punching bag. No, I didn't say anything…I never say anything. You know that."

"Good," he replied back with disinterest. His hand reached out to grab the bottle of soda to his left but then he paused, looking slightly over his shoulder but not meeting Santana's face. "Oh, and Santana?"

"What?" she asked, trying to keep any edge from her voice.

"It's not like you don't deserve it anyway…"

The comment made her wish for a slap in the face instead, especially when it caused the tears from earlier to abruptly resurface and spill over her eyelashes. She understood the slurs – slut, whore, tramp – they all made sense because they were all true and some part of them being true made it sting less. But what Santana was still trying to figure out was what part of her, what quality, what feature, what aspect of her being made her deserving of being hurt. To be both emotionally and physically abused to the point of being broken, to the point of actually starting to believe that she did deserve it.

* * *

><p><strong>I always promise a happy ending with my stories, but sometimes it just takes a few rough patches to get there...just sayin'! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	4. Pawns

**AN: Hey! Wow, I've been taking way too long with updates but it really can't be helped, I've been busy packing to go back to college and all that jazz, ugh! For all of you waiting for Finding Santana, I'm so sorry and I promise it is coming. It's just taking me longer than normal because I have less time right now, so I thought it would be better to at least give you an update here since it was already written than not update any stories at all. Hopefully you all feel the same!**

**This chapter starts a slippery slope for San, but once she reaches bottom that's when Rach will be swooping in to pick up the pieces. There's nothing too triggery in this chapter but as a pre-warning, the next chapter is going to be very dark! I don't like giving the chapter away by posting triggers at the top, so as always, the M Rating stands and you've been warned. Thanks! **

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 – Pawns<p>

"Hey, Dave!"

Dave looked up from the inventory lists on the clipboard he was studying and found one of his coworkers smiling back. "Oh, hey, Jay…what's up?" he asked in a manner that he hoped seemed nothing more than friendly. Dave could never be too skeptical of his actions, especially when interacting with a man with dark hair and rugged good looks; enough to make any woman _or_ him swoon.

"Not too much, just glad it's Friday," Jay replied as he slung a tool belt around his waist, making Dave look away as his hands fumbled with the buckle. "Hey, how come you weren't out with your wife the other night?"

"Who?" Dave questioned absentmindedly, going back to his lists of construction materials needed for the day ahead.

Jay could only laugh in disbelief. "Your wife, man! You know, Santana? She's about 5'5", dead sexy with a great ass." He shook his head amusedly and put a hammer through a loop in his belt. "I would think you'd know that ass pretty well by now, I know I would if I was married to it!"

"Oh, right!" Dave laughed, mostly for show and to keep up appearances. Honestly, he didn't know much about Santana's body at all; he rarely looked at her, let alone touched her and that was only if he was feeling desperate and she was mostly willing.

His desperation had been the cause for her pregnancy and while he had felt some remorse for permanently tethering her to Lima with a baby, he really couldn't have imagined her life going in any better directions. When he had agreed to marry her at his father's suggestion he had seen it as doing her a favor. With barely any family of her own and no job or college education, Santana had been at his mercy. He had known that she wouldn't refuse the offer and after they had been married at the courthouse, she had been left with a means of support and he had found a foolproof way to hide.

But life never happened as easily as one could imagine it. Dave still despised himself and his inability to control his desires, and along with that came his resentment towards a woman he could never bring himself to love. Sometimes he felt some form of regret for the pain he put Santana through, but mostly he just hated her. Hated her for being every man's fantasy except his own.

"She must be a real fox in bed, right?" the other man said with a wink. "She seems like she could have a feisty streak."

Dave gave him a smile that feigned interest and nodded his head. "Oh yeah, she's definitely something else in bed."

Most men would have gotten defensive after the first comment, but even a gentleman wouldn't have been able to control his anger after hearing another man speak that way about his wife – that was if he cared about her and loved her. Dave was no typical male though and he held no sympathy for the negative attention that Santana's appearance oftentimes brought her. To him, she was the sensual trophy that allowed him to feel secure and kept his secret concealed. She allowed him to be regarded as any man with an attractive wife would be; his friends envied him, lusted after her, and had no idea that he was secretly gay.

"But what were you saying about the other night?" Dave asked, his curiosity sparking after the original statement concerning Santana had almost slipped his mind.

"Almost forgot…I saw her out at the bar Wednesday afternoon on my day off. I tried to go up and say hey, but she must not have remembered meeting me at the company Christmas party. She had the girl she was with pretend to be her girlfriend so that I'd leave them alone, they were holding hands and everything," Jay chuckled to himself, more entertained by the memory than bothered. "She must've though I was trying to pick her up!"

Within seconds Dave was seeing red and his hand was itching, just wanting to backhand Santana's signature smug smirk right off her full lips. Having quiet affairs was one thing – there was a reason why he himself took as many out-of-town jobs as he could get – but flaunting those affairs at a bar in their hometown was another. He couldn't have his friends and coworkers wondering why the wife that he claimed to love so much was out "pretending" to have a girlfriend behind his back. "A girl?" Dave echoed while attempting to keep his tone calm.

Jay looked up with a wolfish grin and nodded. "Yeah, this little brunette. She looked familiar for some reason…she was hot too, but kind of a bitch. You should ask Santana if she's single for me. Maybe I could take both of them out and they could pretend to be lesbians for me, if ya know what I mean!"

"Alright, that's enough!" Dave finally snapped, swiftly standing up and nearly overturning the chair he had been seated in.

"Sorry, man," Jay laughed again and held his hands up in surrender. Although from the way he was still grinning it was apparent that he wasn't all that sorry. "You know I'm only messing around."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Here, kitty kitty…"

A female voice distracted Santana from making eyes at a group of men in business suits who had been teasing her all night with the stacks of money on their table. Her first reaction was to be annoyed; just because she worked in a club called _The Slippery Kitten_ didn't mean that she wanted to be beckoned like she was someone's pet.

Hiding her true thoughts, Santana slinked across the stage – topless and on her hands and knees – towards a woman who was standing at the edge and wearing business attire much like the men were. It was then that Santana remembered seeing the woman come in with the group of other suits before immediately disappearing into a private room, one of the blonde bitches she worked with teasingly guiding her by the hand.

Santana swallowed a knot of nerves that suddenly surfaced as she got closer, making sure to arch her back and squeeze her breasts together with her arms when she eventually stopped. She could count on one hand the number of times other women had taken an interest in her at the club and each time it happened it was like torture. With men she could silently tell herself that they were dogs who only wanted her for her body, but with women it was painful. For Santana, there were few things worse than not being able to control her attraction to a woman who was objectifying her just as badly as any man could.

This woman was older, most likely late thirties or early forties and beautiful in a distinguished and powerful sense. She was tall with hazel eyes and dark chocolate colored hair that was straightened, creating sharp angles against the collar of her suit jacket. She was everything that Santana had once imagined herself being – well dressed and intimidating, with a career that demanded respect and instilled authority.

"What can I do for you?" Santana asked. She didn't bother trying to sound seductive like she did with men; women were more controlled and just speaking to them with a sultry quality didn't get the job done.

First, the woman appraised her with her eyes before reaching out and sliding her hand into Santana's hair, just behind her ear. "Where's your collar, kitten? Are you lost?" she questioned, as she brushed her hand along the silky skin and hair she had found. She spoke as if she really was speaking to an animal or a creature too simple to understand her words.

_If I'm a kitten, then you're a cougar, you old bitch. _Through her disgust, Santana hummed low in her throat and nuzzled her face into the woman's hand with false affection. "I don't have a collar because I haven't found anyone to take me home yet," she said flirtatiously.

The woman smiled broadly in response and from her pocket she produced a fifty dollar bill. Then, she held it aloft in front of Santana's face. "Well, you can be my little pet for the night," she whispered, guiding the bill closer to Santana's lips. "Let's start with a private dance…"

Knowing what was expected of her, the Latina opened her mouth and took the bill between her teeth. On the outside she was the perfect picture of manufactured sexiness, but on the inside she felt just like the lowly, unwanted animal that she was pretending to be.

"Good girl…" the woman told her, running a hand through her hair a final time before strutting towards one of the private rooms.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"You know, I meant what I said about you being mine for the night…"

"What?" Santana asked as she slipped her arms back into her bra straps. The smell of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and alcohol were clinging to her and all she was focused on was going home, washing it away, and then curling up with a sleeping Olivia.

The woman who had kept Santana dancing for the past two hours grasped her naked waist from behind and kissed and licked her neck before whispering, "Have sex with me tonight…the money is no issue."

Although in a way Santana had already been selling herself by opening her mouth for blowjobs, it was something she had only recently started and she had never gone so far as to actually sell her entire body. "H-How much?" she stuttered, ashamed with herself for sounding nervous.

"Hmm…" the woman purred in her ear. "How about five hundred?"

Santana closed her eyes and tried to think of all the reasons why she should refuse, but after a few seconds she found that there really weren't any. However there were plenty of reasons to accept – it was a lot of money, Olivia would have to be enrolled in preschool in the fall, there were always various bills to be paid, with a woman it would be safer, she had been wound up ever since being swept away by how gorgeous Rachel had grown up to be, someday she hoped to get a divorce and support herself, she wanted to have her healed broken nose reset, the mental list in her head could have went on and on.

Taking a deep breath, Santana tried to get used to the hand that was moving down to cup her through her sheer lace panties. It would only get worse and if she was honest with herself she knew she would have done it for less. "I'll do it."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

With just a haircut and the addition of a pressed shirt and dress pant, it was astounding to Rachel how much more mature a man who used to sport a mohawk, motorcycle boots, and a jersey could look. So much so that she barely recognized her past high school fling – Noah "Puck" Puckerman – until he gave her one of his goofy grins and opened his mouth to speak.

"My little Jewish-American princess! How are you?" he shouted as he approached her, not minding at all that they were in a bustling restaurant on a Friday night. Crushing her in a hug, he easily hoisted her from the floor and made her squeal in both amusement and protest.

Rachel straightened her hair and the top of her dress once her heels were grounded again and beamed at the friend that she hadn't seen in years. "Amazing and I see that I'm not the only one who maintained their big mouth yet grew up and developed a sense of style after high school!"

"Rachel, that hurts!" Puck groaned, screwing up his face and pressing a hand to his chest. "You know I'm the same ol' Puckasaurus…just a whole lot sexier." He then flexed one of his arms, making the charcoal grey shirt he was wearing strain over his bicep.

Swatting at his chest, Rachel laughed, "You need to stop before you rip your finely pressed shirt, Mr. Puckerman!"

The two studied each other for a few moments and let the noticeable differences in each other's faces sink in. Rachel had always known why she had been attracted to Puck; underneath all of the bravado he really was a sweetheart. But high school hadn't been the time for them and she knew that there probably wouldn't ever be a time for anything other than friendship now.

"We should sit," Rachel suggested after realizing that they were still very much in the middle of a restaurant with families and other couples starting to stare at them.

"Ladies first," Puck said, and then gestured to the chair she had been previously sitting in. He helped her into her chair and then took the one opposite of her. Next, he plucked up the glass of dark wine sitting at his right and swirled it a little before taking a sip. "Good stuff…"

"Yes, I took the liberty of ordering a bottle for us," Rachel chuckled. It was comforting to see that some things really never changed. While Santana had nearly blown her mind with her new maternal personality and quieter mannerisms, Puck was still Puck. A small town guy who tried a little too hard to be a badass when deep down he knew that everyone could see right through him. "I wasn't quite sure what you would prefer, but I could only hope that your tastes had broadened to something beyond Natural Light."

Puck smiled guiltily and as he was prone to do, he quickly took the opportunity he had been given to be suave. "That's fancy. So, I can only assume that this is a date, right?"

"You know what they say about assuming things," Rachel added cleverly, after drinking out of her own glass. "And I think that a bottle of wine can be shared amongst old friends without it being assumed a date, Noah."

"Alright, I'll give you that, but now you have to tell me what you've been up to in that big city! I mean, I know you've been like winning a couple Grammy awards and all that, but you've gotta be stirring up some other trouble on the side."

Looking down and playing with the stem of her glass, Rachel reminisced on what the city of New York had both put her through and blessed her with. "It's really not as glamorous as it may seem," she admitted. "Well, it's nice now, but the first few years were sort of rough…constant auditions, constant rejections..."

"Such is the life of a rock star," Puck said teasingly.

"Such is the life of a rock star before they actually become a rock star," the petite brunette corrected. "But really it was difficult, probably more so than I expected it to be. I think growing up in a smaller community may have given me somewhat of an ego."

"No comment." Puck looked around purposefully before turning his attention back to his wine, making her laugh.

"Needless to say, I had to be knocked down a few rungs before I could start the climb back up," Rachel explained with a smile. "But it did pay off and as you can see I've been fortunate enough to have a break in my schedule before I head back to Broadway for my role as Christine in the revival of the Phantom of the Opera."

Placing his index finger to his lips, Puck feigned his concentration before exclaiming, "I know that one! I remember when Schue made us watch it in Glee club senior year. That phantom dude is pretty badass, kind of creepy but definitely badass."

"I'm glad you think so," Rachel laughed, while internally she waited for the ideal time to start subtly interrogating him on the topic of Santana. Her thoughts had been consumed with worries and regrets concerning the other woman ever since their tiff days before and although it made her feel bad to think about it, she knew that she had mostly asked Puck to dinner to hopefully shed more light on Santana's situation. Something had seemed off during both encounters they had had and in typical Rachel Berry fashion, when given a mystery she would not be satisfied until it was solved. "But anyway, enough about me…tell me about this pool company I've heard so much about."

"Eh, you know," Puck shrugged. "It's a hard life, construction and pool maintenance isn't easy."

"But you're the owner, don't you have employees to do that part for you?" Rachel asked with some confusion.

Puck immediately burst into laughter and waved his hand dismissively. "Ha, yeah! It's actually the easiest job ever…I just go out on house calls so that I can boss my guys around while I chat with the hot chicks in bikinis! That's how I got the job, I'm so good at what I do I just charmed my way right to the top!"

They spent the rest of their evening laughing their way through dinner as they relived the nostalgia of their high school days. And it wasn't until Puck was signing the check – at his insistence – that Rachel worked up the nerve to bring up Santana. She felt it was legitimate enough to ask him about a classmate who still lived in the area, but the reasons why she was asking that he couldn't have had any idea about were making her feel guilty.

"So, uh…do you ever see Santana?" Rachel quizzed, hoping that the question came off in a casual manner. Apparently for her dinner date it hadn't though and soon Puck was stopping mid-signature to look up at her with an almost panicked expression.

"Why do you ask?"

It wasn't the response Rachel had been expecting but in the way she interpreted it, it further confirmed that something was definitely not right. "I was just curious. I actually went out with her Wednesday night and um…honestly it could have went better, but old habits die hard I suppose. I just wondered if you two still stayed in contact."

Suddenly, Puck wasn't interested in anything but finishing up with the check and fumbling to put his card back in his wallet. "She kind of wrote me off a long time ago…"

_"What the hell are you doing up there! Like what the fuck, Santana!"_

_ "Let go of me!"_

_ "No, sit down," Puck commanded as he guided Santana – barely clothed in risqué red lingerie – by the wrist to the chair in the private room that he was supposed to be sitting in. "Jesus, I didn't even want to believe it was you!" he exclaimed, before leaving her like a scolded child so he could pace around the small floor space. _

_ "Well, it's me, in the flesh…get it," Santana lazily drawled. The humiliation she was feeling was unbearable, but using humor and sarcasm to downplay a serious situation was her forte. Coming face to face with one of her old classmates, let alone Puck hadn't been high on her list of concerns when she had gotten her dancing job. Having taken an opening outside of Lima was supposed to eliminate that risk, but looking back on it she should have known that it was bound to happen. _

_ "This isn't funny," Puck said, pointing his finger as he rounded on her. "Tell me why you're here! Did something happen with Karofsky? Because I'll kill that prick if he told you to do this!"_

_ "I needed money and this job pays well," Santana answered nonchalantly while studying her nails, which were painted a gaudy hot pink. "And frankly, I'm supposed to be making money now. So, do you want me to dance or not?"_

_ "I didn't bring you in here to dance for me, I did it to figure out why the fuck you're even here!" Puck was yelling and stalking towards the chair where Santana was seated, and if he hadn't been so angry he would have noticed the way she slightly cowered. Within moments he was kneeling in front of her, letting some of that anger fade so that he could carefully hold her chin and make her look in his direction._

_ "No touching the dancers!" Santana spat, and then slapped his hand away. Quickly, she turned her face back toward one of the walls, not wanting him to see her façade breaking. _

_ "You're not a dancer to me," Puck said softly. "Now, please, just tell me why."_

_ The Latina swallowed and bit into her tongue for a moment; she hated admitting her weaknesses. "I just needed more money, babies are expensive and this was the easiest arrangement I could find…"_

_ "How long?" Puck asked with a sigh of defeat._

_ "Two months or so…"_

_ "Why isn't Dave helping with Olivia?"_

_ "He is, but it's not enough for everything." Santana took a deep breath and then exhaled roughly as she slumped back in the chair and looked down at the man in front of her. It was too exhausting to keep up an attitude when she had already been found out anyway. "Besides, we all knew it would come to this and thanks to breastfeeding my jugs are even huger than normal, so it works out nicely."_

_ Puck didn't see the humor in her joke and his face remained stony as he said, "I'm a guy and even I don't think that's funny. How is the little one, by the way?"_

_ Santana rolled her eyes despite the urge to smile. A part of her loved the way motherhood had softened her – her baby girl meant more to her than she ever could have imagined – but when it came to other people seeing that softness she could only feel hate. "She's fine, along with being loud, whiny, and needy." _

_ Choosing to ignore his friend's negativity, Puck went directly for addressing what he thought was the issue at hand. "Look, Santana, I know you didn't marry Dave because you actually feel something for him," he began, putting his hand over her bare knee in the process. "And if you want to get out before you're in too deep you know you can stay with me until you get back on your feet. I have my apartment and my job is pretty steady right now, I could –"_

_ "Oh, please!" Santana laughed, raucously and sarcastic. "You still clean pools and deliver pizzas! I know you have some sick fantasy of raising the baby you didn't get to keep, but I'm not Quinn and Olivia isn't Beth and we don't need your help. I'm a big girl now and I'm doing just great on my own."_

_ "You're not supposed to be on your own," Puck practically growled through gritted teeth. Leave it to Santana to take someone's most tender, painful memory and sink her claws into it to avoid her own. "You have a husband and if he were any type of real man he would be taking care of you and your daughter."_

_ After slowly pushing herself up from the chair, Santana placed her hand over Puck's shoulder and gave it a couple pats. Then, she smiled that smile that everyone knew was a complete farce, yet warned them not to push any further. "I know you want to play the hero, Pucky, but we both know that I take care of myself. So, after tonight, you're not going to come in here again and I'm not going to have to worry about you treating me like a charity case. Got it?"_

_ Puck shook his head incredulously, knowing that he could do nothing for his broken friend until she came asking for it. "Got it," he answered, before exiting the private room and not stopping until he reached his truck out in the parking lot. Whether she would ever come asking or not had been a mystery to both of them. _

"You probably remember her 'husband,' Dave," Puck air quoted with his fingers, his voice taking on a tone of annoyance. He knew he had to make up a lie strong enough to outwit Rachel Berry; it couldn't be too simple, yet too many details would make her suspicious. But either way he wasn't going to let the secrets of Santana's current lifestyle be revealed to the woman who had accurately predicted them. "Well, let's just say that after she married him she and I didn't get along so well, if we ever did in the first place. I can't stand Karofsky and I can't stand to see her with him."

"Then I'm not the only one who knows that it was a marriage of convenience?" Rachel didn't mean to hang on his every word, but she just couldn't help herself. She felt like she was in high school again and instead of being the outcast that she had been in real life, she was the one in the loop who was about to receive the school year's juiciest piece of gossip.

"Hell no!" Puck swore with a disgusted look on his face. "Everybody knows that, what everyone doesn't know is why she continues to stay with him. But, whatever, it's her life and she can live it how she wants to…"

And just like that Rachel's hopes were deflated, his obvious disinterest made it apparent that he knew no more than she did. "Oh…I see," she said slowly, mulling over the information that had left her at a dead end. "I suppose that makes sense, it is her life. She just seemed so, I don't know…_angry, _when I tried to talk to her about the subject."

"That's Santana for you, she's always angry over something," Puck replied with nonchalance as he got up and then offered his hand. "It's best to just leave her alone, Rach, she didn't want anything to do with any of us back then and she still doesn't now," he advised, helping the woman to her feet. "But anyway, what do you think about doing this again, maybe it could be a date next time? You're not too old for a summer fling are you?"

He was waggling his brows suggestively, but his genuine smile let Rachel know that he really only had the most honest intentions in mind. Almost shyly, she looked down at the swirling pattern of the carpeting before looking back up at him. "Actually, I can't…I'm sort of already involved with someone…"

Puck gave a respectful nod. "Fair enough."

Rachel was glad when she received no further questioning on the matter and during her drive home she tried to figure out all of the reasons why something inside her was suddenly urging her to pursue a married woman, while she was supposed to be having a relaxed summer vacation.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"So…may I ask your name?" Santana asked as she followed the tall brunette into the hotel room that had just been paid for. She was more nervous than she had ever expected herself to be, but she felt that she had no other choice but to feel thankful. It was a disgustingly good opportunity and at least she had been brought to a hotel instead of some dark back alley.

"No, actually, you _may not_," the woman answered as she set her keys on the small desk in the room. Her choice of words was obviously meant to be mocking, like she had never expected proper grammar to leave a stripper – and hooker's – mouth. "This is a business transaction…there's no need for names."

Santana stayed near the doorway, feeling more than just awkward and uncomfortable but unable to think of what her emotions would even be categorized as. "Oh…sorry…"

Turning on her with a wicked smile, the woman moved forward and closed and locked the door behind them. "Now, now…there's no need for apologies either. We're going to have fun tonight and now it's time for you, me and one of my good friends to have ourselves a little threesome."

Fight or flight response kicked in immediately for Santana after hearing what had been said and she swiftly found the doorknob behind her. "You didn't say anything about anyone else coming," she said quickly, wanting to keep her sudden panic concealed. Her mind was running like headlines on a news station's tickertape: _prostitute found dead in a ditch after being strangled in a hotel room and dumped from the trunk of a car. _

"Relax, kitten," the woman said, practically laughing at her fear while reaching into a jacket pocket. What her hand came out with was a small baggie that was half filled with a snowy, powdery substance. "I just meant the white lady…"

"I don't do that," Santana told her, finding the strength to say it firmly. At her position, she could have unlocked the door and walked out but all of those reasons tickling the back of her brain kept her in place.

Rolling her eyes, the brunette approached the desk again and promptly dumped the contents onto its surface. Next, she found a credit card from her wallet and began cutting lines from the pile of powder, as if it was the most nonchalant thing to do. "You've just never done it before, that's all. You're young, probably about twenty six or twenty seven, right?" she attempted to guess.

"Twenty four," Santana quietly corrected. With each passing moment and each condescending remark, she began to feel sick to her stomach. Memories of all the horrible situations she had subjected herself to came in and out of focus, but there were none as horrible as the current one.

The clicking of the credit card on the table was the only sound in the room for a few seconds until the woman chuckled, "See, you're just a baby and judging by the mess you're in at such a tender age, I know you must have a few things you want to forget for a night. Now, come here." As Santana hesitated, she took one of the wrapped straws from where they sat next to the complimentary coffee maker and ice bucket, peeled away the paper, and then twisted it until it broke into two sections.

"Go for it," she said as she held out half of the straw.

Taking the straw in her fingertips, Santana watched as the woman dropped her head and snorted one of the lines and most of another. "I'm really not down with this," the Latina admitted as she looked between the cocaine and the straw, while the figure opposite pinched and rubbed at her nose.

"Come on, kitten, you're being difficult and I don't really like to deal with peoples' difficulties." With a pointed look she pinned Santana and continued with, "Especially when I'm paying someone to be exactly what I do like. Now, go ahead and take advantage of my hospitality…this shit is worth more than you are."

"I _don't_ want to," Santana insisted, her face beginning to color with anger and insult. She had to wonder when she had lost most of her fire. If she had been in high school she imagined that she would have at least threatened to kick the lady's ass up and down the street, if she hadn't done it already. Now, all anyone had to do was dangle money in her face and she rolled over.

Too lost in her complicated thoughts and regrets, the woman was inches from her face before Santana even had time to step back, gripping her forearm and making her flinch.

"Remember that five hundred dollars we talked about?" she asked smoothly.

A knot of emotion welled up in Santana's throat as the woman looked down her nose at her. The first thing she thought of was how Brittany had always towered over her. Only Brittany had only ever smiled down at her, making her feel delicate and protected. This woman only made her feel small.

"Yes…"

"Good," the brunette said with false warmness and then jerked her closer towards the desk. "Then you also remember that you're mine for the night and that I decide what goes on. Do it."

Santana ripped her arm away against her better judgment; she should have been letting the woman do whatever she wanted considering the amount of money on the line. "I…I have a four-year-old daughter at home and –"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" the older brunette shouted as she turned away and ran a hand through her hair. She paused for a moment in thought and then turned back, pointing to the door. "Actually, you know what? I think you just need to leave. I don't care about your kid or your shitty job or anything about you. I just want to fuck you, pay you, and then leave you."

The comment stung but for some reason Santana couldn't let it go. There was so much rage stockpiled inside her that she couldn't help but release some of it on someone who probably couldn't knock all of her teeth out. "Then fuck me, you bitch!" she yelled back. "Do whatever you want to me, but don't tell me I have to jeopardize my daughter for your habits! I have a life outside of this!"

The business suit career that allowed the elder woman to be cool and collected also allowed her to be cruelly calculative and Santana immediately knew that she had made a mistake in projecting her pent up anger onto her.

"If you have a life outside of this, then why don't you go live it?" the brunette asked snidely, making a wide sweeping gesture to the window and the world that lied outside it. "If your daughter is so precious to you, then why aren't you at home taking care of her? Newsflash, kitten…this is your fucking life!"

The questions were simple enough to say, but for Santana there was no simple way to answer them. And soon the absolute truth in the words masked the feelings of insult and gave way to shock. It _was_ her life and she had no other choice but to live it in the moment.

"Fine," the Latina whispered mostly to herself. "Fine…"

The plastic of the straw had become warm in her hand, and she thought of that trivial fact as she shoved one end in her nose and used the other to inhale the drug that she hoped really could make her forget for the night. Her nose burned and her eyes watered with unshed tears as she stood up and took a deep breath through her mouth. The malicious smile on the other woman's mouth made her want to punch the wall, but that wouldn't get her five hundred dollars. No, the next best thing Santana could do was grab the woman by her collar and hair and kiss that smile away.

Between lines number one and two, Santana still had some grasp of the gravity of the situation; she knew she was being used as a pawn for someone else's games. By line number two she was quite sure that she had found all the answers that she couldn't find just an hour or so before. Her tongue was between a stranger's thighs and she really couldn't find anything wrong with that. By the third line she was on her back with a stranger's tongue between _her_ thighs and she couldn't feel a thing besides the beating of her own heart. And most importantly nothing hurt – not the fact that she was still a closeted lesbian, not the fact that her daughter was growing up in a broken home, not the fact that she had resorted to selling herself for money and not the fact that she was married to an abuser but imagining that it was Rachel Berry's dark hair spilling all over her hips.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! And while I'm not the type to ask, I will say that this story has lots of alerts (which are a compliment in itself!) and not many reviews, so I really would appreciate them. They do have an effect on what I dodon't add to the story. :)**


	5. Like In The Movies

**AN: Hey, hey! I don't know why I'm bothering to be cheerful with you because after this chapter you're going to hate me and you definitely won't be cheerful, but...it's all part of the story and we have to get through it! So, this chapter comes with a few warnings...it's DARK and very M RATED! I won't go into all the triggers b/c I don't like giving away the content beforehand. A lot of San's history is revealed and that goes for Rachel as well, and more will be revealed in the next few chapters.**

**Also, some people have been concerned with San's attitude or lack thereof. I know it seems like she should be her sassy high school self, but she's not in this story and she's at a point where she's done fighting back. You'll find out the reasons why and as she starts to get away from Dave more of her typical personality will start coming back.**

**Anyway, enough about that, thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites! I really appreciate it and thanks for reading!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 – Like In The Movies<p>

At some hour of time that she wasn't sure of, a distant knocking sound startled Santana from her black out slumber. Her body leapt to life before her mind had a chance to, shooting a rush of sudden adrenaline through her veins and giving her no other choice but to stare at the ugly, popcorn ceiling until her vision focused. She slowly ran her tongue over her teeth to combat the dryness that had resulted due to her congested sinuses; everything she had done during the night was beginning to come back to her in foggy snippets.

_…a kiss on the forehead…whispered words about money on the desk…a door clicking shut…_

Immediately, Santana pushed herself off her back and hoped to see the payoff for the agreement that had been made lying on the desk. What she saw instead – her bag dumped on the floor and her possessions strewn about – made her stomach rise to her throat. "No fucking way…"

She was on her hands and knees on the floor in an instant, pawing through the duffel bag where she kept her lingerie and cosmetics. The small pouch that housed her makeup and the roll of money she had made in Friday night tips was exactly what she was looking for, but since her lipsticks and mascaras were already clattering in the bottom of the duffel it was obvious that the rolled money was gone.

With shaky hands, she hooked a finger through the strap of her purse which was perched on the desk and pulled it onto the floor with her. It too had been pillaged, with her wallet left open and all money that had previously been there stripped from it. The only silver lining was that her car keys still remained, although it really wasn't that surprising considering the car she drove. Beyond that everything that she had worked for was gone – both the money and the dignity that she probably could have dealt with losing if she had had the money as a trade.

"Shit," she breathed out, going limp and letting her back fall against the foot of the bed as she sat flat on the floor. Above all things, she wanted to sit and cry in the privacy of the hotel room until maybe some generous higher being would allow her to slip into merciful oblivion. But her reality was never merciful to her and there was certainly no one to be generous, and she had a family to go home to and there were lies to formulate. So, instead she swallowed any last shreds of humanity she had, tossed her things back into the duffel and then made her way to the bathroom. If she didn't think about it, then she wouldn't have to worry about getting upset over it.

She avoided the mirror – not having the strength to look at the worthless woman who would stare back – and wet one of the hand towels. She then used it to wipe away the powdery white residue that remained on the surface of the desk. _Never again_, she promised herself as she watched the cocaine dust disappear and sniffed without consciously thinking about it. Though there was a faint voice coming from somewhere within her mind that wondered if the trace amounts would have been strong enough to give her even a little bit of the euphoric feeling she had gotten a taste of.

Suddenly, the knocking that had woke Santana sounded loudly against the door across the hallway, accompanied by the call of, "Housekeeping!"

After putting her revealing clothes back on and hefting her bag over her shoulder, she left the room without a second glance and completely ignored the housekeeping staff when they gave her a polite, good afternoon greeting.

"So, that's what time it is," she whispered to herself, cynically arching her brow as she slid her sunglasses on and jabbed the down button on the elevator. "Marvelous."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

By the time she had made it to the front door of the house that she really couldn't call home, Santana's anger with herself for being so naïve had faded and transformed into exhaustion. She hoped that Dave would be uncaring about her overnight absence because he was the last person she wanted to deal with. Her only goal for the rest of the afternoon was to curl up with Olivia and watch a Disney movie or some other predetermined, storyboard fantasy where everything went according to plan. That was until she had to go back for her Saturday night shift in the evening.

As her predictable luck would have it, Dave wasn't loafing in front of the television but waiting for her at the kitchen table. "Where were you?" he asked without preamble and emotion. His face was stern due to his eyebrows being drawn together, giving him the hawkish look that Santana had learned to fear.

"Ugh, you would not believe the night I had, it was awful," Santana began to explain, whether or not she sounded convincing enough directly correlated to whether or not she would leave the kitchen unscathed. The nervousness she was so used to feeling hit full force and she tried her hardest not to sound jittery when she went on. "First, the owner came in so I had to stay late for he and his friends, and then my car was dead when I got to the parking lot, so I just said, 'screw it,' and decided to stay with the bartender and have a cocktail because he was restocking."

Dave rose with measured movements and stood directly in front of her, leaving barely a foot between their bodies. "Have anything else to add to that tall tale?"

"But I'm not lying." Santana wanted to kick herself but she knew that her husband was probably going to do that for her. Her voice had been so soft and hesitant that anyone could have recognized it as a lie.

With a humorless smile, Dave prepared to shoot her argument to pieces. "It's three in the afternoon and I know you didn't stay with the bartender because I know that they don't do restocking on weekends…they do it during the week so that everything is ready for the weekend." Santana's face fell because he was absolutely correct; she just never knew that he paid that much attention to what she said. "_And_ your car seems fine now _and_ I don't smell any alcohol on your breath from that cocktail you claim to have had…"

"That's because I had it this morning," Santana said, knowing that she was only digging herself deeper.

"You hardly ever drink and that story doesn't even cover for where you were between then and now." Setting his hand heavily on Santana's shoulder, Dave ducked his head closer to her face purely for intimidation. "You used to be a much better liar, my dear wife. Now, tell me again…where were you?"

"Please," Santana pled, turning her face away to avoid the maniacal coldness in his eyes. "Let's just talk about this later…I'm tired…"

"Tired because you were out fucking the girl you were with at the bar Wednesday night?" Dave asked softly, like he was questioning a child about something innocent.

Santana's head automatically swiveled in disagreement and her heart started to work harder. There was no knowing how she had been found out but she didn't have time to dwell on it; he had done a number on her for far less serious things. "No! No, I um…I can explain that…" She paused and as if in some out of body experience, she had to wonder if the voice of a meek and fragile woman was really her own. "I was with Rachel Berry, from school, remember? She's in town for the summer and she just wanted to catch up, so –"

"So, you're fucking Rachel Berry then?" His fingers were digging into her shoulder, but she knew that if she shrugged him off it would end in certain disaster. Not that it really mattered, she was pretty sure that the situation was headed there anyway.

"No, you're not listening," she told him, her throat starting to close up. All of the stress she had endured in the past twenty four hours was beginning to take its toll and she was nearly on the verge of tears. Stupidly, she wondered if letting herself completely break down would make him feel bad enough to stop. "We just met up for drinks and to talk."

"Then why were you holding her hand?"

Santana hung her head in defeat. "How did you know that?" she questioned in a whisper, suddenly finding the toes of her stilettos more interesting than anything else in the room. He had just played the trump card and she had ultimately lost.

"A guy I work with told me he saw you there, a guy that you obviously don't remember meeting," Dave informed, his ire starting to come out in his tone. For a moment, he let his wife's shoulder go to trail his fingers up her neck to grasp her chin. "How do you think that makes me look? Do you think it's alright to just whore around with all the other dykes right in town? Hmm?" he asked fairly calmly, before finally raging, "Answer me!"

A lone tear ran over the lower lashes of Santana's left eye and she knew that it had to have fallen onto Dave's fingers during its descent; it served as no distraction though. "It really wasn't what it looked like…"

"Ha, I'm sure! Why don't you tell me what it really was then?"

"I just…I just don't understand why it matters," Santana spoke lightly, lips trembling. Being facetious wasn't her intention, she just wanted honesty. She was just so sick of the lying and the pretending, and she was aching for the day when Dave would finally accept his sexuality and say it was over between them. He had to be the one to do it though; she knew that she would never be brave enough to initiate that conversation. "Yes, Rachel and I went out as friends and yes, she held my hand for a moment. You wouldn't understand why, but _I _just can't understand why it matters." She looked up at the husband that she felt nothing for and for probably the millionth timed hoped that he could hear her silent pleas. "Dave…you know it doesn't matter...we don't love each other and we're both gay –"

The blow caught her off guard as it usually did, but in the same sense she was always expecting it to happen at some point. She wasn't quite sure what he had struck her with as she was too preoccupied with almost tripping over one of the kitchen chairs as she was sent reeling. Whatever it was though, it was painfully solid and had her cupping her mouth, trying to make sure that all of her teeth were still in place.

Breathing unevenly, she dared to pull her hand away for a moment only to find her palm being filled with the all too familiar color of cherry red blood. "Jesus, Dave…" she whimpered tearfully, replacing her hand and squeezing her eyes shut. The pain began to concentrate in her top lip and by the metallic taste flooding her mouth she could tell that it was split.

"I told you what would happen if you said that to me again!" Dave viciously spat, grabbing a handful of black locks to make her face him.

"Mami! Are you home?"

The excited voice and the pattering of little feet caused Dave to release his hold and shoot her a warning glance. Santana react through her pain and did what he was wordlessly suggesting by clenching her hand closer over her mouth and turning her face in the opposite direction.

"Mami?" Olivia called, this time as she stopped in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. Santana couldn't see her little girl but she could just imagine the cute grin on her face falling into an expression of innocent confusion and worry.

"Well…" Dave prompted cruelly. "Aren't you going to answer your daughter?"

"Hey, baby girl," Santana quietly greeted, although the words came out with a sickening gurgle as she tried to keep the blood in her mouth from dribbling further into her hand.

"Mami?"

Turning further away from Olivia, Santana spat into her hand and casually wiped the blood onto the front of her top. "Why don't you go back and play in your room, Livy." Spots were beginning to dance like confetti in her vision and she didn't need her daughter to witness her passing out on the floor.

"I don't want to!" was the sassy response that was received. For Santana, something about her daughter's unwillingness to obey made her admire her all the more. Olivia wasn't slow by any means and somehow, even at such a young age, she had realized that she could use herself to protect her mother.

"Go to your room, Olivia!" Dave yelled at her.

Olivia, with her mother's stubborn attitude, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "No!"

While laughing sarcastically, he shook his head in disbelief. "Wow, you did a great job with this one, San…she's a defiant little bitch just like you…"

Before she could stop herself, Santana had reared back and spat another mouthful of blood into Dave's face. It was foolish and she knew it. If she was a stronger woman she would have found a better way to defend Olivia, instead of a way that revealed the injury she had been trying to hide and made the little girl start to sob. But if she had been a stronger woman she probably wouldn't have been in the situation in the first place.

Dave was all over her in an instant, looking like something out of a bloody horror film as he lunged after her and shoved her down to the floor. "_You_ are the stupidest bitch I've ever known! What the hell is wrong with you?" he berated, reaching down to slap the side of her head for emphasis.

Putting her head further down, Santana made a valiant effort to keep herself together while she listened to Olivia cry just a short distance away. "Dave, just put her in her room if you're going to do this…she doesn't need to see it." Regrettably, Olivia had seen many things that she shouldn't have in her life and she was no stranger to gore, but that didn't mean that Santana wanted her to see anymore.

Dave began pulling her up by her arm, making her shoes click on the floor as she tried to regain her footing. "Get up! Why shouldn't she see it?" he asked, roughly pushing at her shoulder as he taunted her. "Why shouldn't she know that her mother is a slut?"

"Did you hear that, _baby girl_?" he mocked, turning to Olivia who was obviously panicked, confused, and looked torn between running away and staying. "Your mommy is a dyke and a whore, and this is what happens to whores!"

"Go to your room, Livy!" It was the last thing Santana said before Dave tackled her to the floor again, this time following her down and using his much superior size to pin her down.

"Shut up, San…fuckin' bitch," he panted, his breathing heavily seething through his gritted teeth as he drove his forehead against hers and struggled to push the tight pleather of her skirt up her thighs. "I don't know how many times I have to prove this to you…you're _my wife_! And if you like to fuck girls so much then you can like fucking me too! You just never learn, do you?"

"Please," Santana pled, barely able to draw breath under his weight. She didn't fight him because it would only make it worse and she just didn't care enough about herself to put up the fight that it would take to make him stop. It wasn't the first time he had forced himself on her because of her own ignorance and she knew it probably wouldn't be the last. "Please, don't do this in front of her."

A backhand across her cheekbone was the reply she got and the reiteration of, "I told you to shut up!" With his hand tangled up in her hair, Dave twisted her onto her stomach. "Maybe if you're any good I'll pay you," he sneered in Santana's ear, putting his other hand under her chin and pulling her head back.

While looking down at the smears and circular drops of blood on the floor that were falling from her lips, Santana tried not to think about Olivia. "Please, I don't want her to hear this."

"Then you better be quiet…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Through the open windows of the adjacent living room, Santana could hear the crunch of gravel as Dave backed his truck out of the driveway and it was then that she forced herself onto her back. For the second time in a very short span she found herself staring into the nothingness of a white ceiling, only this time there were tears running behind her ears and everything hurt.

She imagined that she was experiencing that moment in made-for-TV movies where some sorry woman was referencing some happy memory to block out what had just happened. But, having never been one for clichés or the possessor of many happy memories, all she could do was relive the horrific memories of the first time it had happened.

Dave's ability to control Santana had never been about having power over her, it was more about having power over himself. There was no real physical attraction, but if he could use his body to make hers submit then he could convince himself that her accusations weren't true. It allowed him the physical evidence to prove that there was no possible way he could be anything but straight and it gave Santana something to remember him by too.

Like the machine that she was becoming, Santana quietly got up off the floor, took a few deep breaths to quell her dizziness, and then approached the kitchen sink. She washed her hands of their dark stain like it was the most normal thing to do on a Saturday afternoon, paying extra attention to her cuticles and beneath her nail beds. Then, she used one of her hands to wash some of the drying blood from her face and mouth, and felt nauseous as the red tinged water fell back into the basin.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the window and her thought process was automatic. _I hate you, everything about you. _

The next thing she had to do was the hardest and most humiliating, but it had to be done.

"Olivia?"

Her voice came out lifeless as she pushed herself to walk into the living room, where she then found Olivia huddled against one end of the couch. A throw pillow was clutched to her chest and her chin was rested on it while she looked up with glassy, accusing eyes, like she expected an explanation for something that she was just too young to understand.

Santana held out her hand and smiled lightly despite the great urge to want to close her eyes and not wake. "Do you want to take a bath?"

"It's not bath time," Olivia said softly, breaking Santana's heart into pieces.

Sniffling, Santana wiped at her eyes and then nodded, "I know…but I want to, so will you take one with me?"

Olivia shuffled to her feet without answering and took her mother's hand. "Okay," she agreed, though still eyeing her curiously.

"Thanks," Santana whispered and then knelt down. It was painful but she had been way past the point of caring. She pressed her face to Olivia's cheek and hesitated there for a moment; she would have kissed it but she knew her split lip would protest. "You know how much I love you, right, baby?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure…don't forget that…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

As the bathtub filled, Santana found herself sitting on the edge and getting caught up in watching the water exit the faucet. It felt like thoughts of everything and nothing were assaulting her mind all at once.

"Mami, what happened?" Olivia suddenly demanded to know. She was already sitting in the bathtub and closely studying the label of a shampoo bottle that she had no idea how to read yet.

"Nothing happened…" Santana replied robotically, still watching the amorphous gurgling of the water. "Nothing happened, just forget about it…"

When the water level was up to Olivia's chest, Santana silently shut it off and slid in behind her, leaving the towel that she had wrapped up in on the floor. To fight the burning that the hot water caused she gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers along the edge. Once she had gotten used to the temperature, she bent backwards to drop her head below the surface.

Everything was muffled in her fluid filled ears as she ran her hands over her face to wash away the last of the blood. And just as her chest started to ache with want of oxygen she decided to wait a little longer to come up for air. She tried to relax and ignore her body's natural reaction of wanting to escape the water; she had heard some people say that drowning was peaceful and she wondered how much longer she would have to stay down to test that theory.

Olivia's hand grasping her knee broke her concentration and she immediately surged out of the water, inhaling sharply and still holding her face in her hands. She gasped the breaths that her lungs had been craving, but once the need was satisfied she couldn't stop herself and soon she was pulling Olivia's back against her chest and hyperventilating into her hair.

Also like in the movies, most women claimed to feel numb. Santana could only wish to be numb because she could feel everything. Her top lip was becoming tight and swollen, and when she licked it with her tongue it was hot to the touch. The back of her thigh was tingling with a developing bruise from where Dave had been fisting the soft flesh in his hand. Other damaged areas were causing their fair share of discomfort too, but she tried her best to take them in stride.

"What happened?" Olivia repeated a second time as she craned her neck to the side, seeking her mother's face.

"Noth…nothing…" Santana's chest was aching as badly as it had been when she was underwater and she tried desperately to calm herself down. She breathed in the scent of Olivia's hair and attempted to slowly exhale from her mouth, but ultimately the technique failed and ended in a sob.

"But you're sad…"

"Olivia," she cried, pushing her forehead into the back of the little girl's neck like she was a child herself. The demons she was constantly battling were starting to break free and she didn't have the will to hold them back anymore. The notion that she was ruining her daughter and had no idea how to stop it had suddenly struck her. "Just…just hold my hand, okay?"

The two small hands that wrapped around just one of Santana's shattered her resolve completely. But at least they reminded her that she had something to hang on to and something to live for, even if it didn't feel that way.

They stayed in that position – with Santana draping herself over Olivia's small frame – until Olivia stood and turned around. She looked at her mother with the uncertainty that could only be expected, but she had yet to display any of the other typical reactions that most four-year-olds would have had. She was seasoned to these types of situations.

"What?" Santana managed to gasp through her sobs, looking up into her dark, questioning eyes.

With clumsy and unpracticed movements, Olivia then hugged Santana's head down to her chest, patting it with her small palm. "Don't cry, mami," she said, with her young mentality allowing her to believe that the soft suggestion really could make everything better. She was mimicking the nurturing touches that adults had done to her. "Daddy was just mad."

Santana knew that Olivia would never understand the magnitude of the reality that was both of their lives. But as she let herself be comforted by the child she was supposed to protect, she wished that she could explain it and have it be understood. She wanted Olivia to know that she was a stripper, a prostitute, a lesbian, and just a lowlife in general. She wanted her to know that there were good mothers out in the world and that she wasn't one of them. She wanted her to know that there were fathers who weren't always mad and who didn't make those mothers cry. She just wanted more than anything for Olivia to have a better life than what she could ever give her.

After a few minutes Olivia grew tired of standing and sat back down in the water. "Mami?" she said, studying her mother whose head was still bowed as she wept. "Mami?"

Even though she wasn't ready to, Santana swiped at the sticky skin below her eyes and forced herself to slow her breathing and look up; she didn't exist for herself anymore. "Y-yeah?"

"That's a bad owie…" the little girl pointed out, raising her index finger toward a deeply split, still bleeding lip.

With the palm of her hand, Santana caught the next drop of blood in a series of others trickling down her chin. "I know," she whispered, removing her hand and watching as another quickly took its place, falling into the water below and diluting.

Olivia took one of her toys from the corner of the ledge – a colorful rubber fish that shot water from its mouth – and squeezed it in her hand. "Maybe you need a Band-Aid."

"Maybe," Santana strained out the words as she looked on, watching the scene before her.

A child playing in the bathtub; it was so simple and natural and domestic. And then there was her, bleeding and in pain and pretending that it was nothing; it was so opposite. Olivia was the light counterpart to her darkness, she was the ironic gift that came from being raped four years prior, she was the beauty that came out of the brutality.

"What would I do without you, Livy?" Santana said aloud, the question completely rhetorical. It made her think though and soon her brain was fabricating an idea that was outlandish, yet too tempting to dispel from her emotionally unstable thoughts. _Could I do without you? You could do without me…_

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

**I hope you're enjoying that vacation you had to have, b/c you're going to be slammed this fall. – Miranda**

_ I was supposed to find myself, _Rachel thought. _Now, I'm back in Lima trying to do the exact same thing?_

She sighed after reading the text message from her manager, Miranda, and then tossed her hand out to her side. Not caring if the cell phone she had been holding landed on the bed spread where she was laying or if it fell to the floor below.

Sighing wasn't the worst thing she could have done, because so far, she really hadn't been enjoying the vacation that she had practically pleaded for. Her choice to leave the city hadn't been made on a whim, she had poured over the decision and the possibility that her newly blossoming career could take a hit. But in the end, she had known that she needed to be away from the limelight for at least a short period of time.

Rolling onto her stomach, she reached toward her bedside table and retrieved an object from the drawer that she had put there within just a few hours of arriving back home. It was a small, simple black box and it housed what anyone would have suspected it of housing – an engagement ring. She snapped the top open and blandly stared at the warm gold and white diamond combination that deserved so much more attentiveness than it was receiving. The problem was that the ring didn't induce any warm thoughts like the metal it was made out of it did. No, all Rachel could think about when she looked at the ring she had bought over a year ago was mistakes, regrets, and emptiness.

In a sense, Rachel was ecstatic with the status of her life; she was just barely twenty-four years old and had already starred and was set to star in several Broadway shows. But in another sense, she was even unhappier with her life than what she had been as an adolescent with astronomical dreams growing up in a small, unforgiving town.

As irony would have it, New York City had turned out to be an alive but lonely place. And as people tended to preach, it really was lonely at the top. But Rachel had never been a stranger to feeling the distance between herself and her peers, the only companions she had ever had in life were her talent and her dreams. So, when a woman who understood the media industry just as she did had swept her off her feet, she willingly let herself fall.

_"Sorry you had to come back to such horrible weather," Rachel said as she accelerated from a stop sign, making light of the rainy, spring weather that was soaking the whole of New York City. "I'm sure you had no reason at all to come back," she continued to tease, fully expecting the comment to be refuted by the woman sitting in the passenger seat. Because surely her girlfriend of ten months would have wanted to come home to her, even if what she was coming back from was a weeklong business trip to Miami. _

_ It took a moment of hesitation before she received an answer, but eventually she got back a halfhearted jest to match her own, "Oh, no…not at all…"_

_ Georgie – formally Georgina Burke – was someone who Rachel shared her birth year and her body with, but beyond that not much else. She genuinely loved Georgie, with her dirty blonde hair and green eyes, Amazonian features, prep school education and budding modeling career, she was a well-rounded thing of beauty. But it was that complete package that always made Rachel consciously aware of her own incomparable features and their very different upbringings. While Georgie had grown up on the coast of Maine with a trust fund to win her way into any career she wanted, Rachel definitely had not. _

_ "You're quiet tonight. Was your flight okay?" Rachel questioned and then removed a hand from the steering wheel to find Georgie's hand across the console. _

_ "It was fine…just tiring," Georgie insisted, but chose to angle her face and body toward the rain splattered window. She took the hand she was offered for a moment, squeezed it ever so slightly and then pushed it back in the direction from which it came. "You should be driving, it's dark and the roads are wet…"_

_ Rachel laughed and nudged her hand into her girlfriend's thigh before grasping the wheel again."Well, fine then. If you want me to be so cautious, I will." She didn't take the subtle snub to heart, especially not when Georgie turned and flashed a smile before concentrating on the passing buildings once again. _

_ Once they reached their shared apartment that was technically Rachel's, the brunette was beginning to realize that what Georgie was excusing as fatigue actually seemed to be some sort of strange distance between them. _

_ "Georgie? Are you sure you're okay?"_

_ The blonde continued to walk into the apartment. She was determined looking at first, as if she had a destination she wanted to reach. But soon she was stopping near the table that was centered between two white sofas, and then pacing a few laps around it. "Rachel…" she said quietly after stopping, looking at the carpeting before she looked up to the woman who was still standing at the door. _

_ "What's wrong, baby?" Rachel whispered back, her voice just as hushed. The inkling that something was wrong wasn't just an inkling anymore though, it was tangible. _

"_I slept with someone in Miami," Georgie admitted without any of the hesitation she had had in the car. _

_Rachel immediately bit her lip to keep herself from releasing her sudden pain and while her unfaithful girlfriend sat down on a sofa, she slumped into one of the stools at the counter, thoroughly shocked. Her vision was beginning to blur and even though she was avoiding looking at the woman who now had her head in hands, she still had to look out over their apartment and see countless things that reminded her of their relationship. Suddenly, she was back in high school again and the dream boyfriend that she shouldn't have been able to get in the first place was cheating on her with all of the deserible girls who she wished she could be. _

_ "Are you going to say anything?"_

_ The question made Rachel wince and she had to shut her eyes while asking, "Am I supposed to say something? I didn't do anything wrong…"_

_ "I'm so sorry," Georgie began, her voice tearful and pitiful as she got up and made her way closer. "I had been drinking." She gently grasped Rachel's hand like she hadn't wanted to earlier and kissed the palm of it before sliding it up to cup her cheek. "I'll make it up to you…it'll never happen again, I swear…"_

_ After hearing those words much too many times, Rachel couldn't control her urge to cry. She turned her face away and had no other choice but to let the tears fall, as Georgie had taken her other hand as well._

_ "Please say something," the blonde pleaded, attempting to nuzzle her nose against Rachel's temple and loose, rain mussed hair. _

_ The brunette strained to pull her head away from the affectionate touches. "Stop…"_

_ "I didn't mean for it to happen, you have to believe me," Georgie went on. She stooped down from the elevation that her heels brought her and buried her face into a warm neck. Like she was the victim in the situation, like she was the one who needed comforting. "Y-you…you just always push me away. I just got tired of it."_

_ "And you couldn't think of any better way to fix that other than by cheating on me?" Rachel sniped. More anger than sadness was beginning to surface, but she was still allowing a head to be rested on her shoulder. _

_ "I'm not saying it was right, but you've hardly given me a chance. I love you, but __**you**__ won't __**let **__me love you!"_

_ Georgie was sniffling in her ear and it was in that moment that Rachel made a decision, a decision to finally end the relationship like she should have done months ago. Because it was true, Georgie did love her and she loved her as well, but if she had gotten over her insecurities and loved Georgie enough then none of the infidelity would have ever happened. It was her fault and there was nothing she could do to help herself now. _

_ "Get off me, Georgina," Rachel stated coldly and then pushed the woman away so that she could walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. To gather her thoughts, she looked out over the skyline of the city that was supposed to give her __**all**__ of her dreams; even in a storm it was still beautiful. "I think you should leave," she finally said, clasping her hands behind her back and abandoning the windows for her white piano. "If you would like to get your things from the bedroom before you go, feel free…"_

_ Georgie seemed confused as to why playing the piano was appropriate as she watched the brunette uncover the keys, but she didn't question it or the suggestion she had been given. "I agree."_

_ "Good," Rachel nodded and then stared down at the expanse of black and white that had just a tad more black than white on that night. She touched the ring box with her fingertips where it sat on the keys, thankful that it could only be seen by her eyes. _

_She had made a mistake in judgment. She had thought that Georgie was different and in a way she was, that was the entire reason for the engagement ring. Rachel had felt it was the most logical next step in their relationship and while Georgie was different, she should have realized long ago that she herself was not. Yet again, she had let her insecurities outshine herself. And cementing a relationship because she was too afraid that she wouldn't have another chance to give her love to a more suitable person was not a reason to cement a relationship at all. She knew that now. _

"Honey, she just wasn't it…"

"Geez, daddy!" Rachel exclaimed and then practically threw the box back into the still open drawer. "Way to make your presence known!"

Hiram looked over the rims of his glasses and gave his daughter a sympathetic look even though he knew it was the last thing she wanted. Then, he pushed himself away from the door jamb and sat down next to her on the bed. "Georgina was great while she lasted, but we all know that she wasn't the one for you. And that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh, yes, of course," Rachel droned, and then let her face drop into the plush material of her comforter. "That's exactly what I needed to hear, nothing like adding to my ever down spiraling depression." When the man beside her stayed silent, she stewed in her own self pity for a while longer before rolling onto her back and glaring at him. "I honestly don't even know why I'm here anymore…"

"Oh, so you mean to say that when you said you were coming to visit your dear fathers before you dove into a busy schedule, you were lying?" Hiram teased.

Huffing loudly, Rachel pushed herself up to sit crossed legged. "No, not at all…" She looked down and fiddled with all of her ringless fingers. "It's just that I thought my life would be different by now."

"It's not going to be different unless you let it or make it be different," he answered, quite sure that he knew what she was referring to.

"I know," Rachel agreed. "Sometimes I just feel like I missed a turn somewhere. I've focused so much on my career that I haven't taken any time for myself. I mean, look at Santana! She's married, she has the most adorable daughter, she –"

"But where does she work?" Hiram asked softly.

With a shrug, Rachel raised her hands in the air and then let them drop in her lap again. "I never got the chance to find out." She still felt bad about what had happened with Santana and she couldn't help but liken it to the situation with her ex-girlfriend. She spent so much misguided energy pursuing the wrong things that she usually ended up pushing people away.

Hiram sighed and patted Rachel's knee. "Get ready because here comes the positive parental speech," he warned, to which she did crack a small smile. "You're forgetting one important thing – that's her life, Rachel, not yours. And I don't mean to be offensive in any way, but the career you've chosen is obviously more demanding than whatever she's chosen. You can't keep comparing yourself to your high school classmates and your costars, because you're not them, you're you…at it will happen when it happens."

"Yeah, I guess," Rachel said with an eye roll. "But for now, do you know any jewelers around town who would be willing to buy a quarter of a million dollar engagement ring?"

"Honey, any jeweler around here would probably have to trade his entire shop for that rock," Hiram laughed in genuine amusement, although the amount of money was nothing but serious. Sometimes he just couldn't remember when his daughter had grown into a woman who could afford jewelry that rivaled the value of his house.

"Well, I'm not keepin' it," Rachel said saucily before roughly shoving the drawer closed. If she ever got a chance to buy anyone else a ring it was going to be even more expensive, in celebration of her own luck. "My life is nothing like in the movies," she then added, still being smart.

"No, no, it's nothing like in the movies," Hiram agreed as he went along with her joking. "I'd say it's more like a Broadway musical! But much more dramatic!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When Santana opened her sore eyes again she couldn't remember having closed them in the first place. There was a strange sensation under her cheek and as she picked her head up she realized that she had fallen asleep – or more likely passed out – on the bag she had filled with ice for her lip. She peeled the thin plastic away from her cheek and then lifted her head from the couch cushions to peer around the quiet living room.

Eventually, she found Olivia sitting in the recliner where her father usually sat, crying silently and worrying the edge of her blanket between tiny fingertips.

"Livy?" Santana whispered. But even the gentle voice startled the small girl and her face registered panic before she realized who had spoken to her. The little flinch didn't go unnoticed by Santana and it made her want to cease existing, because it was her fault that a child so young was living with that type of acquired fear.

"I don't feel good, mami…"

As much as Santana wanted to get up and comfort her daughter, she knew that she just didn't have the strength to. Instead, she sat up and willed herself not to start crying again as her insides began to burn from the movement. "Come here, Livy."

Olivia clamored over to her as if she had been waiting to do so for quite some time. Then, she dropped her blanket and held out her arms. "Up, up…" Under normal circumstances Santana would have chided her for her baby talk, but she didn't have the energy to expend on petty things at the moment.

Fighting through the soreness in her muscles, she scooped Olivia up into her lap and began rocking her gently. "It's okay, baby girl," she whispered and started humming a soothing, improvised tune. "Everything is okay." Although honestly, nothing was okay.

"When's daddy coming home?" Olivia suddenly asked.

Santana hesitated and she wondered the same thing. She didn't know when Dave would come back or if he even would, but either way, she did know that she wouldn't be able to face him again. Just thinking about the possibility of having a second round of what had happened earlier made her pulse pick up and her head start to whirr. "I don't know," she admitted truthfully, a note of panic in her voice. "I don't know…"

Olivia trembled and held tightly to the fabric of the sweatshirt Santana wore, whimpering, "I don't want him to come home."

"Okay," Santana answered, continuing to sway as she silently agreed with the statement. She knew she had to step up – if not for herself then certainly for the little girl sitting on her lap – and it wasn't an option anymore. It had to be done and only one idea kept nagging at her. "Hey…" she prompted and ran a hand tenderly through Olivia's hair. "Would you want to go visit Rachel tonight? You remember her, don't you?"

"Yeah…" Olivia said quietly, her lip trembling as she nodded. "Yeah, I wanna go see Rachel."

Santana nodded too and hoped that Rachel would understand, if she would even answer a phone call from her in the first place. There was just no one else to ask who wasn't close to the situation and she vainly reasoned that she could probably lie her way through it. Besides, there was nothing worse that could happen to her now and even if Rachel refused her, there was no way she could refuse a face like Olivia's.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel was in the middle of cooking dinner with her fathers and singing along to a collection of Broadway hits on their record player, when she somehow detected the jingle of the telephone over the din.

"Hello? Hang on a sec', I can barely hear you," she nearly laughed into the phone, still out of breath from singing. She wasn't sure who was on the other line due to the loud music and she retreated into another room to find a quieter place. "Sorry about that, may I ask who's calling? Oh, hey, Santana! I'm actually really glad you called…"

**So, San is up to something...but can you figure out what? **


	6. A Situation

**AN: Hey! So, you all were like, "Um...I don't even know what to say," about the last chapter, which is perfectly understandable. But thank you all for reviewing, favoriting, and alerting, and for sticking with this story so far. It will get better, promise! And it starts with this chapter! **

* * *

><p>Chapter 6 – A Situation<p>

"You're sure it's alright?"

"Of course, I'm sure!" Rachel said brightly as she held the phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. In anticipation of seeing Santana again, she was using her hands to tousle her hair and rearrange the long layers."I was just helping my dads make dinner and we'd love to have her company for the evening!"

Santana's enthusiasm didn't match her conversation partner's. She was holding her cell phone much like Rachel was and she was using her shaking hands to fold small outfits into an overnight bag. "I just didn't know I was going to have to work tonight and Dave is busy as well…I really can't thank you enough for this," she said, her voice perfectly put together despite the teardrops dripping from the tip of her nose as she bent forward. "Especially after what happened the last time we were together…"

"No, no, no! That was completely my fault," Rachel insisted. "In fact, I feel as if I need to make up for that and I would love nothing more than to help you out with Olivia."

"Thanks," Santana said quietly, pausing in her actions to think about what could have been. If her life would have turned out differently maybe she and Rachel would have been friends both living in New York City, maybe even more. But that was never going to happen, it was too late for that.

The conversation lulled and unbeknownst to the Latina, Rachel was thinking too. "I really am sorry for how we ended things the last time we were together," she finally added, all of her body language self conscious even though there was no one else in the room to read it.

"Me too…" Santana whispered as she finished filling the bag and then closed its zipper. _And I'm sorry for how they're going to end tonight._

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Right after I'm done with this I'm going to take you over to Rachel's house," Santana informed as she pulled open the first set of doors to the bank. She was flicking her ATM card back and forth over her fingernails, trying to concentrate on the clicking noise rather than how nervous she felt. "Is that okay? Will you be alright staying with her while I go to work tonight? She's excited to see you."

Olivia smiled somewhat shyly and nodded wordlessly, but then as an afterthought she asked, "You'll come back and get me?"

Santana's head swiveled down to face her daughter and her instant reaction was to wonder how a four year old could have seen right through her. Then, she realized that there was no way that could have happened and she forced a warm smile. "Of course," she lied, turning her face away as she said it to instead insert the card into the ATM machine. "Why wouldn't I, silly?"

Olivia shrugged one of her shoulders and tucked her head against it cutely. "Love you, mami."

The hand Santana had poised over the numbered buttons stopped and she found herself frowning at the screen. "I love you too, Olivia," she answered honestly. It was the only truth in her life and she hated that it was the one thing that made her life the hardest.

_**CHECKING…..$124.37**_

_**SAVINGS….….$458.60**_

_Drain it…_ And that was exactly what Santana did to both of her pitiful bank accounts. Then, after she had buckled Olivia into her car seat again, she tucked most of the money into an envelope, wrote a short note on the underside of its flap, sealed it and shoved it into the bottom of Olivia's overnight bag.

The drive to Rachel's fathers' house was a familiar route; she had probably driven past it ten thousand times throughout her twenty four years of living in Lima, Ohio. Being that she had never specifically driven to the house before though, Santana had never paid much attention to the number of minutes it would take to get there. But now she was paying attention. And as she repeatedly glanced at an unsuspecting Olivia in the backseat through the rearview mirror, she was very aware of how rapidly the digital numbers of the clock were passing.

"Olivia, I have to tell you something before you go see Rachel," Santana said after realizing that her destination was just seconds away. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt sick. "Don't tell Rachel or anyone else about what you saw daddy and I doing today, okay? Do you understand what I mean?"

"When daddy made you cry?" Olivia asked glumly, turning her face from where she had been watching the outside scenery pass by.

"Yeah, that…" Santana answered somewhat sheepishly. "Don't tell Rachel about that."

"'Kay…"

"Okay, we're almost to her house now," Santana announced, trying to inject some tone of happiness into her voice. Really, there was no happiness to be had and she ducked her head slightly to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes without being noticed. "I'm going to let you go up to the door by yourself…just knock on the door and…and wh-when she answers just tell her that I'm late for work…"

After putting the car in park at the end of the driveway, Santana turned around in her seat wearing a smile that was painful for her to force. She unbuckled Olivia's car seat and then let her wiggle the rest of the way out on her own; it was a skill she had mastered by the age of two anyway. Then, she handed her the small bag from the front passenger seat and because her throat was too constricted to do anything else, she whispered with faux enthusiasm, "Go ahead, Livy, she's waiting for you."

With some difficulty, Olivia managed to get the car door open and closed on her own and then hopped down onto the pavement. Santana rolled her window down and Olivia stopped to look at her, confusion and something like a mixture of sadness and possible understanding showing in her deep brown eyes.

"You're gonna come get me?" Olivia asked again as she looked up into the car.

"Yes, cross my heart," Santana said with a watery smile as she drew an 'X' over her chest. _And hope to die…_

That seemed to be enough for the young girl and she nodded once before beginning to traipse up the driveway, practically dragging her bag on the ground.

"I love you, baby girl, I'll see you later," Santana called after her and when she received no answer she clutched her hand over her mouth and nose to hold back her cries. A part of her died when Olivia did not repeat the words back to her, but she knew she deserved that sting. And another part died when she realized that the last time she would see her daughter was as she watched her walk away. But that was alright she rationalized as she made sure Olivia reached the Berries' front porch and then pulled out of the driveway. If everything went according to plan, more than just a few parts of her would be dead by the end of the night.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When Rachel heard the knock on the door – albeit a faint one – she messed with her hair again and then stopped, mentally scolding herself for primping for Santana. Gathering herself, she opened the door with a beaming smile in place, expecting to see a full grown woman but lowering her gaze and instead finding a very shy looking Olivia.

"Hey, Olivia!" she greeted as she normally would, although she found it quite strange that Santana was nowhere to be seen. She stepped out onto the porch and looked out toward the driveway, but still there was no Santana and no vehicle either. "Where's your mom?" she asked and then kneeled down to Olivia's level and as she got closer, she immediately noticed that something seemed to be off about her.

"Late for work," Olivia parroted like she had been advised to do, offering no more after the simple explanation.

"Geez, she must've been really late to leave a little cutie like you outside by herself," Rachel teased as she took the bag that Olivia had dropped to the porch. Her muscles registered that the bag was fairly heavy, but since she was too concerned with the fact that Olivia hadn't even reacted to her, her brain didn't really process that information.

Taking a different approach, Rachel opened her arms and without needing any more of a prompt Olivia had glommed onto her tightly. "Well, hello to you too," she laughed, and then stood up and brought Olivia with her into the house.

Leroy, being the warm-hearted teddy bear that he was, had long since abandoned setting the table for his husband and was milling around the living room, waiting to meet their young houseguest for the evening. He approached his daughter and her new charge, but as soon as the little girl had noticed his presence she yelped in surprise and clung even tighter to Rachel, trying to bury herself in her neck.

"She's kind of a finicky little thing," Leroy joked as he went closer still and tried to lower his head to meet Olivia's eyes.

Rachel rubbed her palm over Olivia's back and noted that she was nearly trembling. "No, she's just really shy and I think you being a giant startled her. Olivia, this is my daddy, Leroy, you don't have to be afraid of him," she explained to both of them, unconsciously beginning to sway in a calming manner. "I'm actually surprised she's being this open with me, she's really only met me once."

It was true, Rachel was almost a perfect stranger to Olivia but she was also a few other things. She was a reminder of a trip to the park, and of ducklings and dandelions, and most importantly – safety.

"Aw, well, that's okay," Leroy said as he smiled at Olivia. She had revealed just enough of her face to show the wounded puppy eyes she was sporting. "You don't have to like me but I bet you like spaghetti, don't you?"

She hesitated, but after a moment Olivia held her straight face yet nodded in agreement. Although at that point she would have eaten anything, especially since she had been too afraid to ask her father for breakfast and lunch, and her mother had spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening crying and sleeping on the couch.

"Come on then!" Leroy urged, waving his arm toward the kitchen as he began to walk.

"Let's go!" Rachel said with excitement, grinning when Olivia was brave enough to pick her head up from her shoulder again. By the time they had made it to the kitchen, Hiram was straining spaghetti noodles through a colander and Rachel was sidling up to him in front of the sink. "Dad, this is Olivia and Olivia, this is my other daddy, Hiram."

"Hey, honey," Hiram said casually. He was a less intimidating figure and he was too preoccupied to get as close as Leroy had, therefore making him less frightening as well.

"Two daddies?" Olivia asked quietly, practically wincing as she looked between Rachel and the second man she had met in just a short time.

Surprised that Olivia had finally chosen to speak, Rachel nodded and laughed for no reason at all besides being cheerful. "Right! I have two daddies!"

Olivia clammed up again and Rachel vaguely wondered if a four year old could have an understanding of homosexuality and homophobia. She hoped that that wasn't the case considering her young age and the fact that Santana herself was a lesbian. But then she remembered who Olivia's father was and sadly, she figured that it wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility for her to have already been exposed to that sort of hate. And she was near positive that Santana had never explained the situation of her sexuality and her marriage to her daughter, that would be much too complicated. It was almost too complicated for Rachel.

Dispelling those thoughts from her head and hoping that they weren't true, Rachel changed the subject. "Watch this," she said before sneaking her hand into the colander and snatching out a noodle. With a triumphant smile, she blew the steam off and then dangled it into her mouth. In response, Olivia actually cracked a smile as well.

"You two better stay out of those," Hiram warned, although there was nothing serious about the way he had said it. Over the clink of dishes and silverware, both Rachel and Olivia continued to smile at each other; they were both accustomed to mischief no matter their mood.

While looking out of the corner of her eyes, Rachel slowly extended her hand again and stole another one purely for the little girl's entertainment. Olivia couldn't help but giggle at the antic and soon Rachel was giving her a squeeze and laughing along with her. "Here, you eat this one," she said and then much to her delight, Olivia opened her mouth and allowed her to feed her the other noodle. "You are just too cute! Can I keep you forever?"

Olivia grinned but nodded in disagreement.

"Come on! Why not?" Rachel asked as she combed Olivia's bangs back with her fingertips. "Mama can stay at work and I'll keep you and all your cuteness to myself!"

"No," Olivia giggled again. As the hand that had smoothed her hair descended, she instinctively grabbed for it and wove her much tinier fingers into it. Rachel made her feel safe and all the bad feelings that she felt at home went away. "'Nother one!"

"You want another noodle?"

"Pleeease," the little girl whined while wearing a cheesy smile.

It made Rachel laugh all the more and in that moment she knew that Olivia and by extension, Santana, had stolen a piece of her heart. Just knowing that Santana had taught the girl in her arms to be a polite yet spirited little character gave her a new appreciation for the person Santana had grown up to be.

"Okay, let's get another one," Rachel whispered, letting go of Olivia's hand to once again put her hand into the colander. "We have to be quiet and sneaky, otherwise daddy will get mad…"

Olivia stiffened immediately; she had heard those words more times than she could count on her fingers and that was a lot to her. _"Olivia, let's not do that, it'll just make daddy mad." "You know what it's from, baby girl, daddy was mad and he hit me." "Daddy was just mad, don't worry about it…"_

Rachel was too caught up in her mission to notice Olivia's change in demeanor and when Hiram slapped his daughter's hand away with a playful demand of, "Get out of there," it was too late. The damage had been done. Olivia flinched as Rachel recoiled her hand and she reverted back to pressing her face into her neck.

"Here, I got it," Rachel announced, jiggling the noodle that she had still managed to grab. "You want it?"

Olivia shook her head almost frantically and gripped her hand into perfumed shirt fabric that didn't smell familiar. Suddenly, she didn't feel so safe anymore.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

A half hour out of Lima and Santana was thoroughly distraught. The only sounds she could hear were her own uneven breaths and the sharp sobs that she wasn't trying to keep down anymore. But, she was that much closer to escaping her own personal hell and the pain she was feeling over having to abandon her daughter just served to fuel her motives.

Countless green mile markers passed and before too long the sweet smell of water in the air from the nearby river overtook Santana's senses. Next, the frosty grey galvanized steel of highway guardrails came into view, followed by the additional steel railings and concrete pylons that constructed a bridge. She parked her car on the graveled shoulder and fully rolled down the windows, thankful that this part of Ohio was deserted as usual.

A sick thrill of anticipation and doom rushed through her; much like the murky water was rushing some thirty to forty feet below the bridge. She knew the specifics of the location because nearly every summer since she could read there had been an article in the newspaper about some unfortunate teen who had thought it would be a great idea to dive from the high elevation. But that combined with the shallow, fast moving water had made many a daredevil's adventure into a lethal and tragic accident. That was why she chose it.

Viciously raking her hands over her face and into her hair, Santana dried her cheeks and forced her emotions down. Then, she killed the engine and stepped out. Again, she was thankful that no one who was anyone wanted to be where she was at the moment. Because seeing a woman dressed quite literally like a streetwalker standing on a high bridge would most likely raise a few suspicions, but then again maybe it wouldn't. No one had cared all that much about her throughout her entire life and she really couldn't believe that someone suddenly would.

Once she had reached the middle of the bridge she tentatively reached her hands toward the railing, it was cool to the touch as was the chill in the air. And with every breath of that air that she took, she could practically taste the wet soil and the stagnant rot and decay of the surrounding wetlands. Cynically, she thought that that had to be what death smelled and tasted like, but what she really wished to know was what it felt like.

_I can't do it in the daylight, _she internally contemplated. She had fantasized the current scenario a thousand different ways. She had dreamt about it on nights when she had cried herself to sleep, which weren't all that rare. Those were the nights that led to the mornings when she would wake up and know how horrific her life was. Normal people didn't dream about planning their own deaths, but all of that aside, she still had yet to perfect the plan. _It has to be dark._

Head bowed, she studied the brownish color of the water and decided that that was to her advantage. The jagged remnants of stumps that protruded like spires were a plus as well; they were just waiting to impale whatever pliable, fleshy object that dared to fall.

Santana licked at her gashed lip and for a moment she couldn't remember who she was or why she was there. She knew why it had happened, but it was hard to discern the exact point in which dying seemed so casual. She felt like she was weighing the pros and cons of her choice of death like someone in a stable state of mind would do to buy a pair of shoes.

_The height alone would most likely crush all the vertebrae of my neck and then the water could finish me off. But if I caught one of those stumps and nicked an artery…well then, bleeding out would be okay too…_

But before she could put any plans into motion she had to wait for nightfall and since it was still a few hours away she had to find a way to exhaust the time she had left. Because she didn't want to spend it thinking, lest she should talk herself out of the only goal she had promised herself she would achieve.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Why don't you want to eat anything?" Rachel asked rather sullenly. A forkful of spaghetti that she had chopped into manageable pieces was poised in her hand and Leroy and Hiram watched it in relative silence.

"Don't feel good," Olivia mumbled, lowering her head away from the food that she was being urged to eat. With her short stature and no booster seat, her chin barely cleared the high surface of the table and it wasn't difficult for her to avoid the eyes of the adults around her.

"Well, how about you sit with me and try to eat just a few bites?" Rachel suggested and then lowered the fork to pull Olivia into her lap. "You might feel better if you do."

"You're a natural, Rach," Leroy commented through a smile.

Rachel promptly rolled her eyes over Olivia's head, collected the fork again, and then actually succeeded in feeding her a bite. But the second one didn't happen so easily and Olivia shook her head before reluctantly taking it.

"Kiss her forehead," Hiram suddenly and strangely told his daughter.

Rachel scooped up some more noodles and shot her father a wondering expression. "Why?"

"If she's complaining of not feeling good then you should check to see if she feels warm," he clarified. "Your lips are sensitive so it's easier to tell if she's feverish."

Placing a hand to one of Olivia's cheeks, Rachel then pressed her lips to her forehead and held there for a few seconds. "She feels normal. She's not hot." But not having a fever didn't mean a thing and Olivia was soon proving that fact by vomiting all over herself and Rachel.

"Agh! What do I do?" Rachel spouted as she stood up and held Olivia in a precarious position, not wanting to touch anything or have any of the bile and spaghetti mixture run onto the floor.

Leroy was no help and he only began to chuckle as his daughter panicked. "Welcome to parenthood!"

"Alright, alright, everybody calm down…it's not that serious," Hiram said with his usual calmness and then fetched a dishtowel. He handed it to Rachel and then pointed her in the direction of the bathroom and her room. "Just get her cleaned up and into some pajamas, she'll fall asleep and everything will be fine."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"I left your bag downstairs, is it okay if you wear this for now?" Rachel questioned as she rummaged through a drawer and finally found an old t-shirt. She hadn't been through her old clothes in eons and it was definitely a blast from the past to see some of the outrageous items she used to wear in high school.

Olivia stood closer to the door and stared at her babysitter blankly. "Yeah…" she answered with the disinterest that was beginning to become concerning.

With a gentle hand at her shoulder, Rachel guided Olivia further into the room and gave her the t-shirt. "Can you put it on by yourself?" After getting a silent nod of approval, she went about finding a new top for herself and without giving it a second thought, she pulled her stained shirt over her head and stood in front of her dresser in just her jeans and a black bra.

"Sorry," Olivia suddenly spoke up after watching Rachel toss the shirt to the corner of the room.

Surprised, Rachel turned to the little girl and at first she was confused about what would warrant an apology. But then she looked to the shirt on the floor that Olivia was staring at and she understood perfectly. "Oh, sweetie, it's okay," she said and then gave a warm smile. "I didn't like that shirt anyway."

The two looked at each other in an awkward silence until Rachel turned back around and went through the drawers again. What Rachel didn't know was that as Olivia changed into the t-shirt she had been given, she studied bare skin and wondered where the purplish blue splotches were that her mother's skin was sometimes marred with.

When the older brunette had changed into a long sleeved pajama top printed with tiny owls, she couldn't help but laugh. "I think these clothes look better on you, Olivia," she accurately observed, as Olivia happened to look completely endearing in the reindeer t-shirt that fell down past her knees.

Realizing that Olivia wasn't going to give her any feedback, Rachel went to her and picked her up like she had done earlier. Then, she stripped back the comforter and sheet on her bed and sat back against the multiple pillows, finding it quite natural and comfortable to cradle Olivia against her chest. That maternal urge that had been nagging at her for a while was what had made her buy an engagement ring for Georgie. Because even though in the back of her mind she had known that Georgie wasn't the one, she also knew that she wanted a family someday and the longer she waited, the harder it would be to find that someone to have one with.

"So, did you have a good day before you got sick?" Rachel asked softly, petting Olivia's silky black hair and reveling in the way she nuzzled her face into her neck.

"No…bad day…"

"Bad day?" Rachel repeated with some worry. "Why is that?"

Olivia mimicked the movements that were being done to her and absentmindedly played with the layers of Rachel's hair, twisting and tangling her fingers in it like she did to her mother's. "I just did," she said blandly.

"Well, I'm sorry you had a bad day, Livy. Maybe we could watch a movie together and make it better?"

Without hesitation, Olivia shook her head negatively and sighed, "You have two daddies…"

"Yes, I do," Rachel reiterated, feeling disappointed that the evening she had imagined with Santana's daughter was not panning out. Olivia was more curious about the two men downstairs than anything else.

"I don't like them…"

Rachel was baffled. She lifted her head slightly and angled it toward Olivia, trying to see her facial expression but finding it just as blank as it had been for most of the night. She wanted to ask why Olivia had said what she had, but just as she went to speak again Olivia gave a bit more of a cryptic explanation.

"Daddies are bad," the little girl whispered.

Rachel's worry was mounting now and she couldn't help herself as she blurted out, "Why do you think that?"

"'Cause they are," Olivia replied, her light yet serious voice revealing that this was not an opinion to her, it was just simply the truth. She sounded nothing like the happy, carefree child she had been in the park.

Despite the fact that she knew she should have been asking Santana the questions, Rachel was much too concerned. That little something that had been off about Santana and that now seemed to be manifesting itself in Olivia was giving her an awful sinking feeling in her stomach. She dreaded the answers that she could possibly receive, but she had to ask and Olivia may have been her only opportunity to get the truth. "Olivia…what does your daddy do that's bad? Does he ever do anything that hurts you?"

Picking her head up, Olivia eyed Rachel skeptically and with a hint of panic. No matter what, her mami had told her that she was never supposed to talk about what happened at home, not with her grandparents or anyone else. And she had specifically told her just a while before not to tell Rachel, but for some reason she felt like she wanted to tell Rachel anyway.

"He hurts mami," Olivia quietly admitted and then waited for the moment when she would get in trouble, because surely her mother wouldn't have told her not to talk about it unless it was something that was wrong. But to her confusion, Rachel's face fell instead and she bit her bottom lip hard between her teeth.

Rachel's stomach had gone from sinking to being stuck in her throat and she had to swallow several times to be able to speak. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense – Santana's cryptic quality in addition to her daughter's, the way she had left Olivia on the front porch alone, the heaviness of the overnight bag, the reason why Olivia had been frightened of Leroy and why she had flinched at Hiram's playful slap. "Did he hurt her today?" she pushed further, needing to know more and mentally berating herself for not noticing soon.

Olivia nodded casually and laid her head back down. "Yeah…she was crying…"

"She was crying?" Rachel echoed in shock as tears started to make her own eyes glassy. Her hand went to the back of the girl's head and her other wrapped around her waist, needing to hold her close and absorb some of the pain that now seemed so obvious. Thoughts of Santana being reduced to the victim after all those years of being a bully assaulted her brain, but the present situation couldn't have been anything like that. Dave was a full grown man and a former football player at that and if Santana was upset enough to cry then something had to be horribly wrong.

"She cried a lot and she couldn't stop."

The more Olivia spoke the harder it was for Rachel to keep herself under control. She wanted to rush to her cell phone and call Santana, but that would only alarm Olivia and she couldn't do that. "Okay, um…" she began, trying to think of what she was supposed to do next. "Can you um…can you tell me what he did to her?"

"Not 'posed to talk about it," Olivia told her. "Mami told me not to."

Rachel readjusted her grip and held the little girl even closer. "Olivia, sweetheart, it's important that you tell me what happened, okay? I promise she won't be mad if you tell me."

"He hurt her mouth," Olivia finally whispered and then paused. "Then, he laid on her on the floor…that's when she cried a lot and sometimes she yelled loud too."

It only took a few seconds after the confession for Olivia to break down into sad, anguished sobs. Rachel wasn't far behind and she leaned to her left to grab the box of tissues that her father's had placed in the room for her stay. "It's…it's okay," she said shakily as she dabbed at her cheeks, and then got another tissue and worked on Olivia's. "Everything is going to be okay…you're safe with me and no one can hurt you here."

Half of that statement was a lie. Rachel didn't know if everything was going to be okay, especially since she had no idea where Santana was and no idea if she was even going to come back or if she was seriously injured or anything. Olivia had obviously witnessed some trauma and Santana had been the one to sustain it. And whatever it was, Rachel could only assume. But what it sounded like made her stomach turn.

After an hour or so of tears and singing lullabies, Rachel had successfully coaxed Olivia into sleeping. "It's going to get better for you, sweetheart," Rachel whispered to the sleeping little girl she had tucked into her bed. She kissed her forehead and couldn't help but think that in that moment she was the most selfless she had ever been. She had always wondered if she would make a good mother considering she had never grown up with one, but the sudden need to protect Olivia no matter the cost gave her the answer. "Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, I'll make sure of that..." And with that, she left Olivia to dive head first into the wreck that was Santana Karofsky's life.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"So, how was your first foray into motherhood?" Leroy laughed as his daughter came from her room. "Still ready to get hitched?"

Rachel didn't laugh back as she normally would and it was then that her fathers realized she had been crying. "I think we have a situation," she said, and then went to Olivia's overnight bag where it sat at one end of the couch. She rifled through it and when she encountered the thick envelope at the bottom and opened it she knew she had been correct.

_Please make sure she has a good life. I'm so very sorry. – SMK_

"She's not coming back, she's not coming back," she whispered in shock and put her head down, taking a deep breath before standing up and giving the envelope to Hiram. "Olivia just told me all these awful things and…and oh my God, what do I do?" she pleaded, suddenly realizing just how serious the situation had become.

"Please make sure she has…" Hiram read aloud but trailed off as the content he was reading became too much. "Okay, we just need to stay calm for the time being. We need to try calling her…what did Olivia tell you?"

Leroy grabbed the envelope for himself and read the simple sentences a few times. Then, he surprised his husband and daughter by doing something he rarely ever did, whispering under his breath, "Fuck, this isn't good…"

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Also, San obviously isn't in her right mind at the moment, so if it seems extreme that's because it is. <strong>


	7. A Good Heart

**AN: I feel weird being all "hey guys, let's be cheery," when I'm about to depress everyone. Anyway, this chapter is a lot of history and it further explains Santana's situation. I was going to have this be two parts b/c I want to get to the true Pezberry moments, but it would've taken too long and I can't let myself rush it. They'll be together in the next chapter for sure! **

**Also, thank you times a million for all of the alerts, favorites, and reviews! The last chapter had the most reviews I've ever gotten, so I was like *yay* Thnx again! **

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 – A Good Heart<p>

"Are you sure you're alright?"

While narrowing her eyes and drawing her lips into a sneer, Santana practically glared through the bartender that had been heckling her, with an empty, glazed expression. "I'm wonderful…and I don't need some bartender moonlighting as a therapist bothering me," she said slowly, looking menacing as she peered up through her eyelashes with her head lowered. It hadn't been hard for her to burn time by downing drinks that she couldn't even remember the names of, because it hadn't been hard to come across a shack-like bar perched at the corner of a cornfield. In a state so boring there were only two things to do on a Saturday night – drink or have sex.

"Well, you're definitely drunk," the man replied with some distaste. He had been in the presence of all sorts of people under the influence, but the brunette in front of him was the most reckless and seductively toxic he had seen in a while. Dressed in an indecent black cocktail dress that did not complement her loose, mussed hair and split lip, she still somehow managed to charm her way into having most of her drinks bought for her by the local frequenters. He had watched her sit on the laps of several different men who were just as pleasantly aroused by her as they were afraid of her seemingly wild nature. "I just hope that wonderful includes you having a ride home and some stitches in the near future."

"Shit," Santana mumbled, touching her top lip and finding her fingertips stained with traces of blood again. The bartender offered her a few napkins and she snatched at them with an unsteady hand, snapping, "Give me that…and another shot too."

"Sorry, but I don't think so," he answered automatically and waited for the tirade that he normally received after cutting someone off.

"Fine," Santana said simply, thoroughly surprisingly the other bar goers who had been watching her make a fool of herself. With impaired movements, she nearly fell down from the barstool that it had taken her long enough just to get into. Then, she began wavering towards the door, napkins still in hand and pressed to her mouth without a care.

A scoff of disbelief passed the bartender's lips before he grabbed the bag she had left on the bar and held it aloft. "Miss! Your purse!"

As if she had had a sudden afterthought, Santana stopped, paused as she was distracted by a neon tube sign, and then stomped back to where she had been. She took the purse from his hand and set it back down on the bar to find her car keys and once she had them she shoved the purse, making it and a freshly poured glass of water shatter to the floor at the bartender's feet.

"You bitch," he spat under his breath, giving the bag a kick due to frustration.

Falling back into her messy saunter, Santana turned to leave again and called over her shoulder, "You can keep that!"

"Should we call someone for her?" another man sitting at the bar asked, his eyes still focused on swaying hips. The woman who sat beside him – presumably his wife – wasn't so amused with his staring, but she overlooked it and felt more empathy than annoyance for the object of his lust.

Kneeling down to clean up the broken glass, the bartender hissed, "She can fall into a ditch for all I care…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

By the time Santana had reached the bridge again it was far past dusk and something humorous was happening in her mind. She couldn't really place what that something was, but as she let her fingertips trail over the metal railing she was smirking and occasionally giggling to herself.

"Cheerio time!" she said aloud in a sing-song voice when she stopped in front of one of the square columns of cement that anchored the railings. The column came to shoulder height and all she could think about was how easily she would be able to scale the railing and sit on top of it. She worked poles and had been trained in cheerleading and gymnastics by the strictest coach to ever coach; drunk or not, it would be nothing.

After placing one foot on the lowest rung of the railing, she realized that the unnecessary heels she had put on – just in case she had had to confront Rachel and fabricate a lie about being a waitress or something – weren't going to help her climb anything. "Stupid thing," she mumbled to one shoe and then the other as she took them off and set them atop the column. "Goin' out in style…"

If she hadn't been in the dark and in such a state, the acrobatic feat would have been a bit more challenging just based on fear alone. But the alcohol combined with not really being able to see the water below gave her the nonchalance to go through with it and sneer in triumph when her legs were finally kicking over the edge. Though when she leaned over to try to find the shimmering surface of the water the dizziness that she had been pushing down overcame her and she clutched at the cement for balance.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered into the darkness. She could handle throwing herself off the bridge, but nearly falling off due to loss of balance was sobering. Sitting still for a moment, she absentmindedly smoothed her fingers along the patent leather heels that she now held in her lap. Then, an idea came to mind and soon one of the shoes was held in her hand and extended outward.

When it hit the water Santana was not aware of it because she couldn't see it and she couldn't hear over the whirr of the water either. _But a body makes a bigger splash, _she thought to herself with a maniacal smile, before gingerly tossing the other shoe and swinging her feet.

Once her shoes had been disposed of she realized that there wasn't much to focus on beyond the jumbled thoughts in her foggy brain. The unmanageable things that had been assaulting her mind as she had filled the bathtub for her and Olivia started to surface and she pressed a hand over her eyes. She wasn't allowed to think and especially not about Olivia.

But Olivia was her only accomplishment in life and soon she couldn't keep herself from reflecting on that relatively short, yet pitiful life. It didn't matter how hard her parents had pushed her to be an honor roll student or a cheerleader or the perfect daughter because she had never done any of those things for herself. And while technically having Olivia had been anything but her choice, at least she could hold onto the fact that she had brought her into the world and cared for her on her own.

_"Mami…" Santana spoke into her cell phone in a shaky voice. "This is the third voicemail I've left you…it's been a couple hours since my water broke and I really wish you would call me back. I-I need…I would just really appreciate it if you came up to the hospital to be with me. Thanks, bye…"_

_ "Did you get through to her?" Linda, Dave's mother, asked as she reentered the hospital suite carrying a white Styrofoam cup filled with ice chips. _

_ Santana stared down at the IV in the back of her left hand and she couldn't help but tear up. She didn't want to cry, but in the past eight months and three weeks it really hadn't been in her power. "No, she won't answer."_

_ "It's okay, honey," Linda reassured, sitting at the edge of the uncomfortable bed and taking her daughter-in-law's hand. "I'm sure she'll get here as soon as she can. Don't get yourself all upset now, you'll be worn out before the real excitement even begins." She gave an encouraging smile, but Santana decided to conserve her energy by not smiling back or even acknowledging it. Then, the door opened again to reveal Dave, and his father trailing behind. _

_ Dave smiled warmly and Santana was suddenly in too much pain to care about whether it was real or fake. "I got here as fast as I could, babe," he said in a quiet tone, taking his mother's place beside his wife. With the hands that Santana hated feeling on her skin, he brushed loose strands of hair back into her high ponytail and then leaned down to kiss her dewy forehead. "You're doing so good, Santana, I'm so proud of you. Our baby girl will be here soo –"_

_ "Shut up, Dave!" Santana screamed abruptly as she slapped the hands away from her face, making the other three people in the room jump in surprise. "Just shut up and don't touch me!" she demanded, her face twisting with her overloaded emotions. _

_ Linda set down the cup that she was holding and went to Santana's other side, patting her shoulder tenderly as she wept. "David is just trying to help, Santana. I know you don't feel well, but it'll be a lot easier if you let him help you through this."_

_ Letting Dave hold her hand as she pushed and sweated and cried did nothing to ease her pain, but she did feel some sort of relief in being able to yell at him and release some of the anger she had been harboring. Sometimes she still couldn't believe that he was alright with the arrangement they had come to, but she was distracted from that when the head nurse went to place her swaddled daughter in Dave's open arms. _

_ "Just give her to me!" Santana spat, not wanting him to be the first thing that her baby had to see. The nurse paused in her actions and then laughed, as did the rest of the occupants of the room. They thought it was adorable, they thought that the fierce demand was coming from a hormone crazed young mother when it was actually coming from an upset teenager who had been victimized. _

_ "Here you go," the nurse said in a too happy tone, leaning down to hand the bundle off. Santana reached for it automatically, never minding the fact that she had never even held an infant before. The baby fussed from the slight jostle of being transferred into another set of arms, but once settled against Santana's chest the cries quickly quieted. "She knows her mommy," the nurse finished with before stepping back and busying herself with cleaning up the room. _

_ Santana was suddenly in her own world and nothing existed outside of her and her newborn. "You look like me," she whispered as she scrutinized every feature of the tiny face, from the bleary deep brown eyes to the pink pouty lips. And then she was smiling, something she didn't think she was ever going to be able to bring herself to do again. Dave had taken so much from her and he had made so many of her nightmares come true, but at least he had had no real control over what their daughter looked like and the odds had been in her favor. _

_ "She's beautiful, Santana…"_

_ She didn't even know who had said it, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was true. "Yeah," she smiled through happy tears, probably the first ones she had ever shed in her life. Slowly, because she was afraid of causing any little bit of distress, she touched her lips to her daughter's forehead and felt better about herself than she ever had. All the pain she had gone through to find herself in that moment didn't seem so great anymore. "Yeah, she is…"_

The relief that she had felt in that moment had only been temporary though, something made obvious by the fact that she was now perched high atop a bridge with a great drop between reality and true peace. Having a baby had dulled her senses for a while but to her, there was nothing short of a fatal act that could fix everything she had been through. A baby didn't really mask the fact that her mother hadn't bothered to show at the hospital for its birth or to even meet it until weeks afterwards. Watching that baby grow into a toddler didn't wipe away all of her fears and insecurities either.

_"Even though this is mostly for you, this is like __**the**__ best divorce present I could ever give myself. I mean, they're going to make you look gorgeous when they heal, but how awesome is it that I get to fuck your dad's credit before he takes my name off of his accounts?"_

_ "Hurry…" Santana half whined, half groaned as she swayed slightly on her feet. Her hand was just barely pressed to her chest, but she felt that she had to keep it there lest her new breast implants should try to break free of the skin that was their confinement. It was painful, the worst pain she had ever felt and if she wasn't partially drugged she would have been slapping her mother for taking so long with placing her pillows on the living room couch. Santana would have also been telling her that there would have been no need for a divorce present if she hadn't fucked all of her now ex-husband's rich colleagues like she was doing his credit. _

_"Yeah, yeah…I'm trying," her mother said, fluffing one of the pillows. "There, lay down," she finished and then moved to walk toward the kitchen._

_ "Wait, I need –" Santana paused and squinted her eyes shut; it hurt to speak, it hurt to breathe, it practically hurt to think. She knew what she needed. She needed to put out her hand and have her mother help her sit so that she didn't hurt herself even worse, but that would hurt in itself. And she hated being weak. "Just…help me."_

_ With her usual selfish obliviousness, the older woman tossed her head a bit and huffed, "Do you want the pain pills or not?"_

_ "Yeah, but I –"_

_ "Well then, let me go get them for you. Christ, don't start freaking out on me…" She was disappearing into the kitchen after that, leaving Santana to clench her teeth, take care of herself and wish that she had enough energy to show her mother what freaking out looked like. A few minutes later she was back and carrying a mostly empty water bottle and a translucent orange bottle that rattled in time with her steps._

_ "Got 'em," she said, her voice sounding more enthusiastic than it should have been about her daughter being in pain and having to take prescription narcotics. "How many do you want?"_

_ "One? I don't know," Santana gritted out as she finally got her legs situated on the couch and laid back to begin concentrating on breathing in the least painful way possible. There was no least painful way to do anything though and before she had even realized it was going to happen, there were rivulets of tears running down her temples. _

_ In no hurry at all, her mother fumbled against the childproof top of the medication bottle. "Does it hurt a lot?" she asked stupidly. _

_ Santana knew her mother basically had the mentality of a child and a body that looked like sin, but she had never seemed so completely dumb before. "Yes," she breathed and then bit into her bottom lip. "Just one, give me one."_

_ "One Vicodin for you…" She dropped a single white pill into Santana's hand and then shook some more out into her own. "And two for me."_

_ After somewhat of a struggle, Santana managed to crane her neck enough to place the pill in her mouth and raise the water bottle to her lips. It took several sips of the lukewarm water to wash down the pill before she dropped the bottle off the side of the couch, not caring if the little that remained spilled on the carpeting. It wouldn't be the worst abuse their tiny Lima Heights Adjacent apartment had suffered. _

_ "Too bad they didn't give you a prescription for Percocet too," her mother commented with nonchalance after having dry swallowed two of the pills, something she obviously had practice in doing. "That could've been fun. Oh well, this is good enough…men are gonna want to be all over you after this is done."_

_ Santana ignored her and closed her eyes, and began to imagine how much better her life was going to be when she woke up. All the guys at school would want to sleep with her even more than they already did and she was going to give them what they wanted. She was going to have an awesome reputation, straight A's, a top spot on the cheerleading squad and the perfect body. She was going to be perfect, without a doubt. There wouldn't be any more soft kisses shared with Brittany if she didn't have the time to be with her. She wouldn't have to worry about her attraction to girls if she kept her bed filled with guys. She wouldn't have to worry about anything she didn't want to, she would just be perfect. _

So many thoughts of the perfection that had slowly degraded into failure were bombarding her that she began to forget why she had brought herself to the bridge. She was supposed to be making the pain go away, but what if it didn't work? What if life continued to be just as cruel and tricky as it had always been and the fall didn't kill her? She was becoming too scared to take the gamble, but she was even more fearful of turning back. Maybe she just needed something more affective and certain, like deeply slit wrists or a handful of the pills she had taken after her surgery.

Santana pressed the heels of her hands more harshly against her eyes as she thought back to the last time she could remember spending so much time with her mother. And it wasn't as if she could really remember it, she only knew that they had spent that afternoon together because when she had woken from her drug induced sleep her mother had still been passed out right beside her. And even though Santana had tried to numb herself to her parents' disinterest at a young age, she still found herself wondering if either of her parents would mourn – or even notice – her death.

_ Success. She had done it, she had been accepted into every college she had applied to and her ticket out of Lima, Ohio was practically in her hands. But first, she had to get out of Lima Heights Adjacent and to her father's house. It was an unfortunate half hour walk without a car but with the four letters in her hand and the notion that she was finally going to make her father proud, it seemed to pass quickly. _

_"Santana…"Dr. Lopez said with evident displeasure after opening the door to find his daughter. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I just sent your mother her child support check a few days ago."_

_ The not so warm welcome threw her off a bit, but she was proud of herself and kept her head high and smiled anyway. It wasn't unfamiliar behavior coming from her father. "No, I came by to show you something…"_

_ After being pinned with a skeptical expression, Santana was led through the stately house she used to live in and sat down at the imposing dining room table. "Well, get on with it," Dr. Lopez urged with his usual disinterest, waving his hand to hurry the process along. "What good news do you have for me this time?" His tone of voice made it obvious that he didn't believe that any good was really going to come from the impending conversation._

_ Santana lowered her head, tried to remember the words she had wanted to say and studied the plain white envelope she had transferred the letters to. She had chosen to take the letters from their original envelopes marked with the school crests to make it more of a surprise. With hands that were almost trembling with nervousness and excitement she removed the folded papers and set them in front of her father, smiling at him hopefully. _

_ He looked over the top paper without emotion and then picked up the pile to rifle through the rest. Still, he showed no emotion, but Santana could sense something in the way that his eyes focused just a bit harder. "What's all this?" he asked, setting them back down._

_ Santana didn't mean to wince but she did. She knew that it was in her father's nature to continually put her down or downplay her achievements, but she had been accepted into four of the best schools on the East coast, surely the trend couldn't continue. _

_ "I got into all of them…because of my grades and going to Nationals with the Cheerios and the Glee club," Santana said quietly, now focusing on the table top to keep her wavering resolve from crumbling completely. It made her feel spiteful to be able to say that the very extracurricular activities that her father had labeled as "silly and useless" were the exact qualities that had set her apart from other applicants. But it also made her conscious of his hate for them as well. "I thought that…that maybe we could go visit one or two schools this summer and then I can choose where I want to start my pre-med degree. I want to become a doctor…like you."_

_ The atmosphere in the room changed with her father's sudden shift in mood and Santana flinched when he shoved the papers back towards her. "You think I'm just going to take you on a tour of the East coast so that you can play doctor?" he asked cynically, his voice raising as it was commonly known to do. "Did your slutty mother put you up to this?"_

_"No…no, she didn't," Santana replied faintly. But being completely blindsided, she didn't really know what else to say. "I…but that's what I want to go to college for."_

_ "And who's going to pay for it? Hmm?" Dr. Lopez basically taunted as he folded his hands over the table and waited for an answer that would satisfy his terms. _

_ "I guess…I guess I don't know, not yet anyway. I mean, I got a few scholarships and I just thought –"_

_"You're not going to be a doctor, Santana," he told her. When in doubt, Dr. Lopez got rid of the doubt and replaced it with his word and his word had always been law. "It would cost way too much money and you would never make it to med school, let alone actually get through it."_

_ Santana shook her head in agreement like she knew she was supposed to do and slid the papers into her lap as discreetly as she could. "Oh…" she murmured simply, hoping that the subtle tremor in her voice went unnoticed. She wanted to cry, but it would only make the situation worse; her father most definitely did not tolerate crying. _

_ "Go to community college if you really want to do something," Dr. Lopez offered and then handed her the envelope that accompanied her letters. "That suits you better."_

_ Standing up before he had the chance to see the shimmer in her eyes, Santana turned from him to leave. "'Kay, m-maybe I'll look into that instead…thanks, papi."_

_ "Good and you're welcome. Now, you better go. I have work to do and you should probably get home so that you don't have to walk in the dark…"_

_By the time she had made it back to LHA the letters in her hand felt too heavy and made it difficult to continue walking, whereas before they had propelled her forward. But when they were torn from her hand it was still instinct to want to get them back._

_ "Come on," she pleaded, blinking away tears and tossing her head. "Just give them back."_

_ "What's your problem? Why you cryin'?" an older boy asked in an amused tone, holding her letters out of reach. With him were four other guys, all of them ranging from teens all the way to mid-twenties. _

_ "It's not important." Santana dealt with the same neighborhood delinquents every day. Each afternoon when she walked home from school they gestured and whistled at her, and yelled out obscenities and propositions. It was within good reason though – she had had sex with most of them, some of them multiple times. _

_ "These papers look pretty important," he commented as he looked them over. "Columbia University? Georgetown? That's pretty fancy…you must think you're something special. You think that?"_

_ "No," Santana said automatically, biting into her bottom lip to keep her chin from quivering._

_ "What was that?" He shoved at her shoulder, making her stumbled back on the pavement to keep her footing. "You think you're better than us, huh?"_

_ "No…"_

_ "Good, because you're not!" He had her wrist in his hand in the next moment, marching her towards the nearest badly done, graffiti covered dumpster that was initialed with the letters LHA. "You're exactly where you belong," he said cruelly, holding the papers aloft and then dropping them in._

_ Santana watched them fall into place with the rest of the trash. Forgetting all of her dreams just because her father and some guys whose names she couldn't remember had told her to. But it didn't matter, it seemed she would always be trying to please those who didn't matter. _

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

As Dave put his truck into park in his driveway and took a deep breath, he knew he had gone too far. He knew he shouldn't have done what he had, especially not in front of Olivia and he was prepared to spend the rest of the evening picking up Santana's pieces. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time.

_"Santana?"_

_ "What?" an emotionless voice asked back as Dave hesitantly entered the bedroom they shared._

_ "Where's Olivia?"_

_ "Asleep in her crib...somehow…"_

_ "I didn't mean it, you just pissed me off talking about money and…other things…" he said quietly, walking around to the other side of the bed. He hoped that he wouldn't see anything too gruesome; sometimes he couldn't remember the things he did when he was in a black out fury. _

_ Santana, with blood still crusted inside her nostrils lied on her side with a hand beneath her cheek. "You just railed me over the kitchen table," she said in a soft, bland voice. "It felt like you meant it…or maybe I should say it __**still**__ feels like you meant it."_

_ Guilty of exactly what she had said, Dave looked around the room to avoid her empty eyes. "Are you okay?"_

_ "I don't know…do you want to take me to the hospital to find out? It hasn't exactly been six weeks…"_

_ "I didn't mean to be that rough, I swear," he said rapidly, the sudden alarm evident in his voice. "Seriously, are you okay?"_

_ Santana ignored the question in favor of one of her own. "I was begging you to stop, so what exactly did you mean to do?"_

_ "I-I don't know, I –"_

_ "Just because you didn't mean it that doesn't just make it stop hurting," she whispered, staring across the room at nothing._

_ "Well…can I get you anything?" Dave asked somewhat lamely, not knowing what else to say in the face of what he had done. "Like some ice or something?"_

_ After making eye contact and holding it just long enough to realize that Dave was really as stupid as he seemed, Santana bit her tongue and rolled over onto her other side. "I'm fine, I'll get over it…"_

_ Yeah, she'll be okay. She's fine, _Dave told himself as he opened the door. _She's gotten over it any other time, it's not that big of a deal. _Flipping on the light, he blanched slightly at what he saw. Blood was still on the floor, smeared around from where they had been struggling in it and Santana's hair had swept it up. There was a handprint on the wall he had pushed her against and a few on the floor as well.

"Damn…" he breathed out, strategically stepping over the mess and following the traces of blood to where they ended at the sink faucets. That meant that Santana had been well enough to clean herself up on her own and he took that as a good sign for his sake.

He made his way to their bedroom, finding that most of the lights were off. But that didn't mean anything. He figured that Santana was just asleep in their bed because that's what she usually did after they fought. But when he reached their bedroom and found it empty, Dave felt a nervous sweat begin to break out along his hairline. His cell phone was in his hand in the next instant and he was suddenly hyperaware of what the consequences would be if Santana was doing what he thought she was doing.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"When it rains it pours…"

Rachel, who was seated beside a hospital bed in an ER exam room, lifted her head from where it was resting in her hand and looked at her father with little to no amusement. "Please don't make jokes right now," she quietly requested. She put her forehead back in her hand, but soon realized that it didn't ease any of her restlessness and she decided to watch over the sleeping little girl on the bed instead.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound insensitive," Leroy said from where he was seated closer to the door. After Olivia had continued to be sick even after napping in Rachel's bed, they had all come to the mutual conclusion that it would be best to bring her to the emergency room considering what she had revealed to Rachel. Hiram had stayed behind and periodically updated them on Santana's failure to return to their home. "I just can't believe this is happening. How did we go from a quiet Saturday night at home, to this? I just hope she's okay."

"You and I both." Playing with a tendril of Olivia's hair because she just couldn't help but want to comfort her, Rachel loosely wrapped it around her finger and then slid it behind her ear. "I don't even know what to think…I should have known sooner. She was so distant, she didn't tell me anything about her life…I should have known but I was too busy going on about myself to notice."

"Something tells me that she was fine with you not knowing anything," Leroy accurately pointed out.

Putting her head down again, Rachel dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a fingertip. "You're probably right, I just hope she realizes what she's doing and decides to come back. How could she leave her daughter like this?" she asked her father, shaking her head in disbelief. She wasn't a parent herself, so she could only imagine what it would take to do what Santana had done.

Leroy sighed and shook his head too, not wanting to think about what would drive a woman to such lengths. "I'm sure the reason why she left would explain how she could do it. She's battling something bigger than the pain of leaving her child…otherwise she wouldn't have done it."

Rachel nodded but remained quiet. In her head, she was trying to crack a mystery that she didn't have nearly enough clues to solve. But at the same time she didn't want to solve it, she didn't want to know the truth about what Santana was and had been going through.

"You know that if she doesn't call you back or come back by tomorrow morning we have to call the police, right?"

The question broke Rachel's concentration and she ran a knuckle beneath her eyelashes to clear away the wetness again. She just wished that Santana would call her or text her or anything to let her know she was alright. "I know," she said, her voice catching as she looked at Olivia once more. "I just don't want her to go back to Dave if what she said is true…"

"He's her father," Leroy gently reminded. He didn't want it to be any truer than his daughter did. "And without Santana there's really nothing we can do. She'll be in his custody no matter what, unless there's a way to prove that he's an unfit parent."

"How do I do that?" Rachel automatically asked, an unnerving type of determination giving an edge to her tone.

"Rachel, honey, you can't just –"

A knock on the slightly ajar door both interrupted the conversation and startled Olivia awake. "Mami?" she questioned uncertainly after waking up in yet another unfamiliar place.

Rachel's heart slivered into a million pieces but she stood and helped Olivia to sit up on the bed anyway. "Mom's at work, remember? Are you feeling okay?"

The onslaught of questions seemed to be too much for her and Olivia chose to retain the silence she had adopted before leaving the Berry household for the hospital. The younger looking male doctor who had just entered and was shaking hands with Leroy caught her attention instead and she eyed him closely, keeping herself aware of the distance between him and the bed she sat on.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Reese. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I had to run down from a code on the cardiac floor," he said as he held out his hand, but this time to Rachel. He wore a friendly smile despite the late hour and the assumption that he had probably been working around the clock.

Rachel took his hand in hers and in a split second her mind replayed the scenarios in which she had shaken a thousand other hands in the name of her career and show business. None seemed as important as creating this small alliance for Olivia's wellbeing. "I'm Ra –"

"Rachel Berry," the doctor finished for her, something that constantly irked her. "I took a friend of mine to one of your shows during a trip to New York, it was wonderful. All due to you, no doubt."

"Thank you," Rachel replied back as graciously as she could while wanting to inform the man that she knew 'a friend' meant a woman and that he was doing a poor job at attempting to flirt. She had already been pushed to the edge for reasons outside of he and his ego and she would have hated to have to give him a taste of diva. "But as much as I appreciate your praise, I would appreciate it even more if we could focus on her," she finished, gesturing to Olivia.

"Oh, of course," he recovered quickly and moved to the countertop to flip through the chart he had been given by a nurse and then washed his hands at the sink. Next came the stethoscope and he pulled it from around his neck and put the ear buds in place as he approached. "So…what seems to be the problem tonight, little Miss Olivia?"

Olivia seemed alarmed to hear an unknown person call her by name and she immediately looked to Rachel for guidance, fear already showing in her eyes.

"She um…she's been vomiting off and on for the past few hours," Rachel began to fill in, being careful not to reveal too much. As far as she knew Olivia hadn't been physically harmed in any way by her father, her current condition could probably be easily dismissed as nerves and stress. One couldn't be too cautious though and such was the cause for the visit to the ER. But Rachel didn't want to complicate the situation further by involving anyone that wasn't absolutely necessary. Maybe it was poor judgment on her part or maybe it was good, all she knew was that she didn't want to create a situation for Santana that would be direr than the current one. Not yet anyway.

"From what the nurse charted she's not running a fever," the doctor noted and continued to make his way to Olivia to listen to her breathing and heartbeat. She shied away though just as expected and glared with an intensity that was purely Santana; it made a knot form in Rachel's throat.

"Can you let him listen to your heart, Livy?" Rachel asked softly. She reached out to run a calming hand over the little girl's back and was secretly thrilled when it wasn't shrugged off.

"No…"

While he had been watching from the background before, Leroy stood and gave a piece of advice that he had acquired from years of parenting. "Listen to Rachel's first and then she'll see that it's not so bad." Olivia watched all of the adults with a curious expression, Dr. Reese smiled a bit too eagerly and Rachel decided that she would let the man invade her personal space if it meant making Olivia feel safe.

"Go ahead," Rachel advised, placing her hands on her hips and giving Olivia a smile.

It took all of twenty seconds for Dr. Reese to finish his task and then announce in a cheesy manner, "You, Rachel Berry, are the possessor of a good heart." But she didn't need to be told that fact. By ignoring him and seeing Olivia alight with just a bit of a smile just because she had done something trivial, it silently confirmed the fact in a much better way.

"Let's hear yours now, okay?" Rachel said, making sure to nod her head encouragingly.

Olivia agreed and with Rachel's hand holding hers she even allowed the doctor to check her pulse and her ears, nose and throat without reluctance.

"Well, it's obvious that there's nothing seriously wrong," Dr. Reese announced after his short observation. Both Rachel and Leroy shot each other glances of relief at his words and then carried on as casually as they had been. "It could just be a touch of stomach flu or you know, kids will be kids, they like to give us adults mysteries that we're powerless to solve. The only thing to worry about now is dehydration, but she'll be alright. Just keep giving her fluids and I'll give you some popsicles to take home and she can munch on those too."

"Thank you, Doctor…and um…" Rachel paused to take a few steps and pointed towards the door. "Do you think you and I could speak privately for a moment?"

Once Olivia had been assured that she would be fine in Leroy's care, the two left the exam room in favor of the hallway that was quiet and mostly empty at the late hour.

"What can I do for you?" Dr. Reese asked politely. He had realized somewhere between listening to the local celebrity's heartbeat and leaving the room that his flattery and flirting would get him nowhere. Currently, Rachel was wholly unconcerned with her own success and fame like he had expected her to be.

Rachel looked up and down the hallway just to be sure that there was no one to eavesdrop. There was a lone nurse seated at a computer at a desk some distance away, but the white styrofoam cup she was sipping from and the game of solitaire on the screen were the only two things holding her attention.

"I wanted to ask you about…_someone_…that used to work at this hospital and that I'm hoping still does," she eventually admitted, though she was still watching the bored nurse at her station. Rachel knew she had always been somewhat of an amateur sleuth, but it had only ever been to outdo Vocal Adrenaline when it came to competitions or something of the like. She was walking a finer line now and she hoped that her questioning wouldn't come back to bite her or Santana. "He was a doctor here. I'm not sure if he was a surgeon or anything like that…I don't even know his first name, but I know that he worked here and –"

"Just tell me the last name and I'll try to be as helpful as possible," the man in front of her interrupted softly, refocusing her attention and realizing that something seemed to be wrong.

"Lopez…"

"Lopez," he repeated thoughtfully. It took a few seconds, but eventually the name started to sound familiar. "Yes, there was a Dr. Lopez that worked here during my first year here."

Rachel felt herself hit a figurative brick wall. "So, he used to work here but he doesn't anymore?"

Dr. Reese shook his head and then thought a bit more. "No, actually he left not long after that…that was probably five or six years ago. I can't say I know all the details, but I overheard some nurses say that he moved to Florida…something about being closer to his family in Puerto Rico."

Five or six years ago was within the time frame of she and Santana's class graduating and Santana becoming pregnant with Olivia. Needless to say, Rachel was shocked for the umpteenth time that night. Santana's father had moved away during what was probably the most critical time in her life.

"Does that help at all?" Dr. Reese said, pulling Rachel from her own thoughts once again.

"No…well, yes, thank you. It helped somewhat," Rachel said slowly. The information hadn't helped in her mission to in return help Santana, but it had helped to possibly explain just a little of why Santana was the way she was.

"You're welcome, then." He tugged at his stethoscope a bit and then placed his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, not knowing what else to do for the woman in front of him. "I'm going to go get those popsicles for Olivia now, I'm sure she'll want to go home and rest after all of this…"

Rachel could only nod in agreement and let her lower back slump into the handrail on the wall as he walked away. Finding Santana's father had been her only idea of trying to get more answers, but now more than ever she felt truly hopeless.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

After sharing two popsicles and just staring at each other while lying in bed, Olivia had fallen asleep with her lips stained blue and Rachel continued to stare at the ceiling. It was past midnight and she was exhausted and despite her fathers urging her to get some sleep to face what would come in the morning, there was no way she could shut her brain down.

Taking her cell phone from the nightstand, she checked it for probably the fiftieth time in the past hour. She had traced Santana's cell phone number from the caller ID of her fathers' house phone and since she had called to leave multiple voicemails, she knew that Santana could have redialed her if she wanted to. But judging from the lack of missed calls and text messages it was apparent that she didn't want to.

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. Maybe if Santana was reminded of what she was missing it would serve as a wakeup call. After activating the camera on her phone, Rachel angled it toward Olivia's peaceful face where it rested on her shoulder and snapped a picture. Then, she thought out a message to go with the image before sending it.

**Wherever you are, whatever is going on right now, you can come back from it, Santana. I'll help you and we can make it right together. Just please come back, she needs you…**

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

The early summer breeze made Santana's face feel cold as it met warm tears and no matter how many times she used her palms to wipe away the sensation it still came back. No matter how many times she tried to rise above the negative in her life, it would always come back.

"What did I do wrong?"

She asked the question out loud despite there being no one within miles to hear her voice, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Her parents had never listened, she had never had a best friend besides the one she had stupidly fallen in love with and the rest of her peers and teachers regarded her as an inhuman creature devoid of emotions. The last time she had put her feelings into words it had been at the insistence of some zany substitute teacher for that one best friend and it had gotten her nowhere. And after that incident she had learned that her feelings weren't and never were going to be important and she hadn't bothered to voice them again.

Knowing that she wasn't going to get an answer to such a pointless question, Santana gripped the rough concrete on either side of her legs and bent forward to stare into the blackness below. _I have to do it. Maybe I won't feel anything, but even if I do…it'll feel better than this…_

A vibration suddenly began to pulse against her chest and a vicious groan tore from her throat at what it meant and what it made her think of. Having her cell phone tucked in her cleavage was something that she did out of habit. It was where she kept it when Olivia was at home with a babysitter because she always wanted to be there if her daughter needed her. That remembrance set more tears falling and even though she should have pitched the phone into the water below, she pulled it out and opened it anyway. She had a good idea of who would be leaving her texts and she knew it would give her more drive to go through with her plan.

**1 New Text Message**

**Dave **

**Sun, June 5 12:26am**

**Where r u and O? - DPK**

Santana read the text and marveled at how tame it was, but when it buzzed in her hand with another message and then once more before she had the chance to open it, she could tell that Dave was panicking. She had never been brave enough to disappear after one of their incidents and she could only imagine what sort of scenarios were going through his head.

**U better answer me. where the fuck r u? If u tell any1… - DPK**

**Nvm idc if u tell anyone…Im still gonna beat ur pretty face in when u get here so b ready - DPK**

Despite the last message, Santana closed the phone calmly and sat motionless and just breathed. _Rachel wouldn't turn me away if I told her. _

That thought consumed her for a moment and with some confusion she tried to find the reason why she would suddenly want to back down. Her phone buzzed in her hand again, but she had no energy to react to Dave's threats until she saw what the message actually held – a picture. But not just any picture, a picture of Olivia with her mouth stained blue as she slept with her forehead tucked against what could only be Rachel's dark hair. And just the side of Rachel's face was visible too and although it was indirectly, Santana could still see the traces of running mascara left over on the side of her cheek. Rachel Berry was holding her baby and crying over her. She didn't care to read the words that came along with the picture because suddenly she had found her breaking point.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't be mad at me, there's Pezberry hugs in the next chapter! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	8. Lost & Found

**Hallelujah, finally this fucking chapter is done! I'm super duper sorry for taking so long with this update, it's been a combination of writer's block, school and just life in general, I guess. But I have to thank you all so much for sticking with this story! I've gotten tons of reviews, alerts, favorites and messages asking about it during the absence and I can't thank you enough for that. :) **

**As for this chapter, I took some creative license because I know 0% about cops, jail, etc. b/c I've never been to jail, yay! Mostly, I used good ol' Google research and one of my friends' experiences for reference, haha, at least some good came from her arrest! So yeah, bear with me if there are any inaccuracies or typos.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 – Lost &amp; Found<p>

"Do you ever wish that you would've picked a better job? I mean, I thought being a cop was going to be exciting…all we ever get to do is chase boozers around this cow town…"

The driver of the patrol car and the older and more experienced of the two police officers in it, rolled his eyes and then squinted into the darkness. The white reflective lines of the highway were becoming hypnotizing after a long shift of work and his new partner was becoming even more obnoxious. "Just because we got called to tail some drunk tonight doesn't mean that tomorrow won't be completely unpredictable. You're just a rookie, you don't even know what you're in for with this job…" he reminded. He was bored too, but getting a call from someone at a local bar who was concerned about some young woman deciding to drive while heavily intoxicated was certainly less boring than pulling over in a deserted parking lot and doing paper work. He knew they probably wouldn't even find the woman, she would most likely make it home unscathed and unpunished for her stupidity; there wasn't much to hit when the roads were empty and bordered by farming fields. But it was something to kill time.

"How drunk do you think she'll be?" the man to the right asked while undoing the first button of his tight uniform collar.

"From the sounds of the call put in – really drunk. And get that buttoned up, you're not off the job yet."

"Yeah, yeah…well, let's hope she's smashed out of her mind. I need some entertainment."

"How about we just hope that she made it home safely and that we can go home soon too…"

Fifteen minutes went by in which the driving officer had yet to even see another car. His partner had fallen asleep a few minutes prior and although it was extremely frowned upon, he really couldn't be bothered to wake him up. It was peace and quiet or more annoying questions and he knew which option he would rather have.

He squinted his eyes again and recognized the skeletal shapes ahead of him as the high bridge that passed over the only major waterway within miles. He had driven over it plenty of times but the old structure never failed to be eerie, especially in the middle of the night. With his foot pressing harder over the gas pedal, he intended to pass over it as fast as possible. But when the headlights glinted off the form of another vehicle parked at the shoulder, he punched the brake and did the complete opposite.

"Wake up!" he demanded, reinforcing his words with a slap to the other man's chest. "I think you're about to get your excitement," he finished and then exited the car, his flashlight already in hand.

Cautiously, he approached the parked vehicle only to find the driver's side door still open, the keys on the seat and no occupants in sight. With that familiar off-putting feeling, he directed the beam of his flashlight toward the guardrails and up further toward bridge, hoping to find someone and not find them all at once. "Get up here," he shouted back to the other officer over his shoulder and then began to proceed forward.

He walked slowly along the pavement, the gravel crunching under his soles every so often as his adrenaline began to mount. "Hello?" he called experimentally. His partner decided to arrive at his side at that moment, spewing all sorts of questions as he was prone to do. "Shut up! I'm trying to listen…"

"Listen for –" The second officer stopped himself when a noise more high pitched than that of the whirring water met their senses. "What was that?" he then asked, sounding much less calm than he had been in the car.

"It sounds like…crying…"

After an uncertain glance at each other, they continued walking and when their flashlights set on a huddled figure with wild black hair spilling over her face, even the more experienced of the two hadn't been expecting that.

"Oh, shit," he whispered to no one in particular, already having made the connection between the young woman's state and the location they were in. "Miss? Miss?" he said as gently as he could, taking in her shoeless feet, torn black stockings and skinned knees.

When she lifted her head, she revealed that her face was in no better condition than the rest of her. There was bruising and blood around her mouth and through her smeared eye makeup she tried to look at them with eyes so glazed that it didn't seem that she was looking at anything at all.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the officer asked as he knelt down beside her. The other officer stood some feet away, eating his words from earlier as he looked awestruck and unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. "Can you hear me? What's your name?"

"San – " she attempted to say, but her voice caught from crying and cut out.

"San?" he repeated to her, hoping he was correct. He received no acknowledgment though and it seemed that he would just have to approach the situation with the best judgment he could. "Can you stand?"

Santana, through the alcohol and the mental anguish, fixed the two men with a vacant glare and braced her hands on the pavement she was sitting on. She wanted to stand like suggested, but her limbs wouldn't cooperate and soon there was a hand gripping her bicep, not roughly, but firmly enough to try to help her. The gesture didn't help anyone though. It only made Santana react by muscle memory and she didn't feel guilt when she sunk her fingernails into any flesh she could find. That it happened to be the officer's nose and cheek didn't matter to her, all that mattered was that she was alone in the dark with two men that she wasn't familiar with. It was a fear that she could usually contain under normal circumstances, but nothing about the night had been normal for her.

In the next instant, her own cheek was up against something solid and coarse – the pavement she had previously been sitting on. There was also a large hand sufficiently enveloping the opposite side of her face and bearing down onto it hard enough to cause pain. It was no matter though; there was nothing she could do to prevent it anyway.

"Get off her!"

After receiving a shove to the shoulder, the rookie fumbled one-handedly with the handcuffs at his belt before dropping them on the ground. "What are you doing? She just attacked you!" he reasoned angrily, repositioning his hand over the side of the woman's face and placing a knee in the middle of her back. Then, as he had been trained to do, he swiftly recovered the handcuffs and locked them into their proper place in record time.

The other officer could feel the light burn from the small wounds on his face, but he wasn't directing his concern towards himself. Instead he was more worried about the person who had inflicted them. "I said _get off!"_ he repeated again. With his professionalism beginning to wane, he shoved his partner again. This time with enough force to knock him off balance and away from the woman who he now had a duty to care for.

Ignoring the fact that his partner looked as if he wanted to strike back, he stood her up using his own strength, turned her around and then held her shoulders once her weight was on her own feet again. He looked into her face hoping to find some type of coherence, but her crying and whimpering made it evident that that would be difficult. Something had happened to her that was beyond his control or ability to help her.

"Hey, look at me," he said softly, wanting her to open her eyes, which she had closed when the blinding beam of a flashlight began shining on them. The small figure was trembling under his touch and while she had responded before, he wasn't sure if she was even conscious of his presence anymore. But proving him wrong, she suddenly looked up, gave him a hollow eyed expression of surrender and then promptly collapsed into his chest.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"I couldn't find her shoes…probably threw them over the bridge," the rookie officer announced with an unconcerned shrug as he walked back to the patrol car. "Tell her not to worry though, she still looks like she's been put in her place…"

Despite the sudden anger he felt, the older officer still closed the back door quietly, and then took several purposeful strides toward the other man and seized him by the collar. "I better not ever hear you say something like that again or I'll kick your ass myself! Got it?"

"She's just a whore!"

With his hands still fisted in his partner's uniform collar, he flirted with the idea of knocking him out cold, but that would only cause trouble for himself. There were better punishments for some chauvinistic bastard who had no place in law enforcement and he was going to make sure that they were received. And with that thought soothing his conscience he let him go, adding, "She's a woman and not just that, she's the woman that most likely just ended your short lived career…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

In a small room that was coated in plain off-white paint and had a fluorescent light bright enough to induce seizures, Santana sat by herself at a single table and listened to the people outside the room tossing her name around. She clinked her cuffed hands together where they rested in her lap and felt like a criminal. Technically, she had committed some crimes, but those weren't the reason why she felt so nauseous over having people poke around in her background. She felt like a criminal for reasons that were beyond her, for matters in which she was actually entirely innocent.

As she listened to the voices of both a man and a woman, she placed her forehead on the surface of the table and tried to imagine what was going to happen next. Things were becoming clearer and she was starting to put the choppy sequence of events back into order. She had never been arrested before but she had quickly found that there was nothing more sobering than being escorted into a police station in handcuffs after a complete breakdown. And alongside feeling like a criminal, she felt a sense of humiliation so unbearable that she would rather suppress it from her memory than have to think about anything that even related to it.

_"Her name is Santana Maria Karofsky, she has no prior record, she's twenty four, married…"_

_ "Married?"_

_ "The car she was driving is registered to a David Paul Karofsky, who I'm assuming is her husband. With a name like Santana Maria I'm also assuming that Karofsky isn't her maiden name and that this David fellow isn't her brother."_

_ "I see…I think we could assume a lot about both of them…"_

_ "That's why I'm asking you to speak with her. She's not in the best shape…"_

_ "I'll see what I can do…"_

Upon hearing those words said just outside the door, Santana picked up her head and huffed back any residual tears that were threatening to surface again. There was a knock on the doorjamb that she could only describe as one of warning because she wasn't exactly in a position to grant or deny access. She supposed it was only a measure of politeness.

"Hi there…I'm Officer Martinez," a tall statured, brunette woman in uniform greeted as she waltzed around to the chair opposite of Santana. She wasn't what Santana would have deemed as attractive. She wasn't that young but she wasn't old either and the stress of her job showed on her face, but there was something inviting about her. Maybe it was the fact that they shared some type of background, what with their darker skin, hair and eyes, or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, Santana was just glad that some cop with a nightstick hadn't walked in to give her what she knew she deserved. "It's Santana, correct?"

A smile was the last gesture that Santana could have imagined receiving from anyone and she knew that giving one back would be pushing her lucidness. Her face hurt from a battery of different abuses and the easiest thing for her to do was simply stare straight ahead, pretending like she hadn't heard anything.

"Okay…" the officer said in a drawn out but still friendly manner. If she was annoyed by the answering silence she didn't show it and just continued speaking, setting several packaged items onto the table as she did. "I noticed your lip during your booking. It looks pretty painful, I thought that maybe we could get it cleaned and dressed."

Accidentally betraying her neutrality, Santana glanced down at herself; she didn't need a reminder to know that she was in shambles. The crinkling of plastic being peeled apart made her look back up and she was met with another question that she had no desire to answer no matter its simplicity.

"You don't have a latex allergy, do you?" she asked, pulling surgical gloves from their packaging and then waiting for a reply.

Making everyone around her miserable had been something Santana did when she was younger to match her own misery, now she preferred to suffer in silence. She realized that for some reason the police officer patiently approaching her was on her side and while she didn't want to ask for help outright, she couldn't deny that there was some sense of comfort in actually being treated like a human for once. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Let's get started then..."

Another soft smile was sent Santana's way and she kept her head low to make her slight scowl less noticeable. The crease between her brows only deepened when her eyes found her feet, which were bare aside from her torn up stockings that now seemed so out of place and the deep burgundy, blood-like nail polish on her toes that morbidly seemed to fit. Olivia wore the same polish on her own little toes despite Santana knowing that it was a much too garish color for a little girl.

Releasing a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a snort of disgust, Santana tossed her head upwards again, asking, "Why am I not in a cell right now?"

Officer Martinez hesitated for just a moment, pausing in sliding a chair closer to her new charge before finishing the action and sitting down. "I guess you're kind of a special case," she admitted as she picked up a syringe of saline, uncapped it and pressured some of the solution onto gauze that she had already unwrapped.

"Special?" Santana gave another snorting noise but didn't bother to roll her eyes. "Great."

"It's not always a bad thing. Turn your face toward me, pl – " The other woman cut herself off when she unthinkingly laid a hand on Santana's knee, making her flinch violently. "It's okay," she quickly reassured. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do. I just want to help you out."

Nodding hurriedly to make it seem as if nothing was wrong, Santana only managed to put her lingering intoxication into perspective and make it obvious that something was definitely off about her. "Right, yeah," she said and then moved her face to the desired location and closed her eyes, swallowing heavily to calm the spike in her heart rate.

"I'll try to make this as painless as possible," she fairly warned before gently touching the moistened gauze to the scabbed split in Santana's upper lip and the inflamed skin surrounding it.

It did hurt but nothing could compare to when it had happened, and it couldn't even touch what had happened afterward. But a hiss of breath did escape after a careful dab that was done just a little harder than the rest.

"I'm sorry…"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Santana said mechanically, the movement of her mouth causing more pain. "It's my fault."

Choosing to ignore that belief for the time being, the officer went on cleaning the wound and then wiped away the leftover blood that had strayed beneath her lower lip and the corner of her mouth. "This is pretty deep, you know," she commented. "It probably should have had a stitch or two when it happened." Santana chose that moment to remain silent again, but it had the opposite effect of what she had wanted. "Whendid it happen anyway?"

"Earlier," Santana answered ambiguously.

"And how did it happen?"

"Nice try…"

The two women met each other's gazes and stubbornly held the contact. Santana could always win a stare down but she was thankful when the other woman turned away because her eyes were welling and she couldn't keep it under control. In the back of her mind she knew that she hadn't won because of her skills in intimidation.

The strange sound of surgical tape being stretched made Santana want to cringe and the quiet snip of the scissors nearly sent her over the edge. Suddenly she felt sick. She wasn't supposed to be there, sitting in some bare room with plain furniture having a pointless staring contest. She was supposed to be long gone, dead and mangled and lying face down in a swamp to rot.

"Am I hurting you?"

Santana hadn't even noticed that one thin strip of tape had already been placed over the gash and she hadn't noticed that she was now openly crying either. She was consumed with the realization that she had failed herself yet again and would have to go on facing everything she feared and then some. Olivia, Rachel, Dave, they and everyone else she happened to know would need some explanation and what would happen after that she didn't know.

"Should I go on?" the officer questioned again, taking a fresh piece of gauze and patting at a tear dripping off of Santana's chin.

She shrugged, letting her vision go in and out of focus as her eyes watered more and then spilled over. Having her stupid lip heal was the last thing she was trying to concentrate on. Dave would have her head once he found out what had happened and Rachel would probably turn her in, most likely guaranteeing that she would never see Olivia again. She was certain that there would be no cure for that type of wound. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she mumbled.

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't be?" She lightly smoothed on the second piece of tape that would help keep the edges of the cut pulled together.

"I don't know, probably…" Santana answered honestly, her voice soft and far away sounding. Her eyes were now focused on the wall, looking at nothing.

After gathering the bloodied gauze and plastic packaging in her gloved hands, Officer Martinez stood from her seat, preparing to leave and giving Santana a sense of relief. "I'm going to take care of this and then I'm going to come back so we can continue this conversation."

Santana drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing to do what she did best – push people away. She exhaled slowly through her nose. "I wish you wouldn't…"

"What?" the other woman asked as if genuinely confused.

"I wish," Santana began, looking up pointedly and challengingly, "that you wouldn't come back."

The woman caught onto the game rather quickly; she wasn't a seasoned police officer for no reason. And for the first time she used a tone that conveyed the fact that she was the one in charge. "Well, you know what?" she asked with no intention of waiting for an answer. "You're in police custody and that's just too damn bad. I'll be back in a few minutes whether you like it or not."

A snarl curled Santana's top lip despite the sting; anger, aggression, force, those were all things that she was familiar with and knew how to handle. What she couldn't deal with was the pity and the sympathy, and it was well known that it didn't take much pushing to turn her would be allies into enemies. It was all part of a well rehearsed act and she was confident that even if the woman did come back she would be able to create quite the aversive situation.

Once she was alone again her conscience immediately began to eat at her, but another knock at the door interrupted her self-loathing and made her jump.

"Hey…" a cautious voice called to her.

A man with a familiar face took the empty seat beside her with a half smile and then set a pair of black, white, and silver Adidas sneakers on the table. It hadn't been very long since Santana had seen him last, but his features were clearer now and she embarrassingly remembered him as the man whose face she had clawed into (there were smalls scrapes across the bridge of his nose and cheek) and who had picked her up in his arms and carried her to his squad car. She also recalled the scent of his cologne or whatever it may have been and it made her feel even more nauseous than before.

"I dug these out of the lost and found in the gym," he said, touching the tongue of one of the shoes and sort of chuckling to himself. "I'm not really sure if they're your size or if you're into Adidas, but they are women's…I couldn't find your shoes before, well, you know and I just thought it was the least I could do…"

Santana took a breath that sounded more like a gasp and then blushed because of it. She couldn't bring herself to look at him and she was suddenly so nervous that her hands were beginning to shake, making the tiny chain links of the handcuffs click together involuntarily. Jerkily, she separated her hands as far as possible and grabbed at the hem of her dress, hoping to make it stop.

"Are those too tight?" he asked after seeing the movement in her lap. Reaching around to his belt, he began fumbling with something. "I could loosen them if you want."

Santana's spine straightened without her even having to think about it and she shifted as far away from him as she could in her seat. The possibility of having him touch her again put her on high alert. Men brought on a type of anxiety that she could normally control, but being handcuffed and subdued with a man was different from writhing in his lap and having him eating from the palm of her hand.

"I'll take that as a no." He relaxed back into his own chair, putting even more distance between them and taking what he hoped was a non-threatening stance. "So, you're not going to talk to me?"

It was obvious that he meant her no harm, but she couldn't help what she felt and she needed him to leave her alone. "Thanks," Santana forced herself to say, just barely above a whisper.

"You're welcome…"

And in a moment of bravery, she continued to speak. "And I'm sorry for what I did to you…I was just…"

"Scared?" he finished, his voice even and more understanding than it was pitying.

Before Santana had another chance to make herself look foolish, Officer Martinez walked back into the small room, this time holding a manila folder. "You're popular tonight, Santana," she said, exchanging knowing glances with the other officer.

"I'm on my way out," he announced, but not before producing a business card and setting it on the tabletop. "Just in case…"

_Just in case you want me to suck your cock, _Santana thought wryly as he exited. There was only one reason men gave her their business cards and it had nothing to do with meeting up for a friendly chat. Although no man had ever sweetened the deal with a pair of shoes beforehand, even if they were someone else's disgusting gym shoes.

"What are you thinking about?" Officer Martinez asked, taking back the chair that had originally been hers.

Santana thought about the question for a moment and then without looking, answered, "I can't see how it matters…"

"You flip like a switch, you know?" It was an observation that was obvious to everyone aside from Santana. The woman sighed when again she received no real response and explained further, although something told her that she didn't really need to. "You're all talk with me, but with Officer Benz in the room it's like you're trying to disappear. Why is that?"

"It's because I'm drunk," Santana countered, giving a slow, wicked smile.

Officer Martinez folded her hands over the table and laced her fingers together. "I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you probably haven't had a drink in multiple hours and that you're not as drunk as you wish you could be. Should I also assume that that is just from you falling over because you're _so _drunk?" she asked, gesturing to the fat lip she had taped up.

"Smart lady, but some of it's actually from one of your boys…the one who smeared my face across the pavement like buttahhh," Santana drawled sarcastically. She wasn't sure where her sudden energy for being so surly was coming from, but she could tell it was having the desired effects.

"And for that I apologize, he's going to face the consequences for that. But what I want to know is who sent your teeth through your lip…preferably without the attitude."

Santana leaned forward as if she might really divulge the secret, then whispered, "Or what? You'll arrest me?" Her hands were still shaking as she brought them up to rest on the table, aping the other woman's position. But this time they didn't shake due to nerves, it was something akin to adrenaline or the realization that she had hit rock bottom and that no matter what she did now it probably couldn't get any worse.

"Santana, I'm trying to be as patient with you as I can be…"

"Officer, I'm trying to be as patient with _you _as _I _can be…"

"You and I have something in common, Santana," Officer Martinez stated, her voice still calm even though Santana could see the vein at her temple beginning to show from her frustration.

"And what's that?" Santana questioned her, her own voice falling low to one of seduction and intimacy. She knew she could make the other woman crack; she just had to find the right chink in the armor. "Is it that we're both spics or the fact that our last names end with 'Z'?"

"No! It's that we both know you're lying and that you need help just as badly as I'm trying to offer it to you!" she finally shouted across the table.

"That's the whole problem!" Santana shouted back as she slammed her cuffed wrists down, which she noted caused a good type of a hurt. "I don't need help, I need to be punished! I'm the criminal, remember? So, put me in a cell and do whatever you do with criminals and don't act like I deserve anything more than that!"

Officer Martinez cocked her head, mumbling under her breath, "So stubborn." Then she shook off the comments and prepared to try a new tactic. "I want to show you something," she said, pulling a black leather wallet from her uniform pocket, opening it and setting it down in front of Santana. "These are my kids…"

Santana's face seemed to lose most of its color as she glanced down and then just as quickly glanced away.

"That's my daughter and my son. She's nine and he's four…your daughter is around the same age, isn't she?"

"How did you know about her?" Santana snapped, fearing the worst – that Rachel had already called the police and they had been informed of the entire situation.

"Relax," the woman advised. "I was in charge of taking care of your belongings and I saw her hospital wristband on your car keys. That's really cute, wish I would've thought of that for my kids'…pretty sure theirs are collecting dust somewhere. Tell me about her."

The bare spot on Santana's left hand that her simple wedding ring usually occupied confirmed what had been said. During booking she had had to remove all jewelry items but aside from her earrings, her wedding ring had been the only one of value. And that was only a purely superficial value, it had no emotional value to her and she didn't care if they ever gave it back. It actually felt nice to be rid of it, but it had been replaced by handcuffs and she was just as thoroughly trapped.

"She's four too," Santana finally gave in and let all of her attitude dissolve in defeat.

"Does she look like you?"

The ups and downs were taking their toll again and soon the tears were coming instead of the talons. "People tell me that, yeah…"

"I bet they're right," Officer Martinez smiled, softly yet somewhat sadly and trying to convey the fact that this wasn't a trick. "Where is she tonight?"

"Is this like a test?" Santana whispered, bringing herself to make eye contact. Her voice was light and self-conscious; she was truly confused by this turn of events. "Because I really don't want to tell you anything if you're just going to try to take my kid away because I'm a mess…it's not her fault and she's with someone I trust."

"Oh, I –" The other woman didn't know what to say, but she did feel bad for giving the impression that she had an ulterior motive. Her intentions had been only good ones and as a mother, she could perfectly imagine what Santana must have been thinking. "I'm sorry," she eventually said, finding it to be the only appropriate thing to say. "I didn't mean for it to come across that way…I just," she set one of her hands over Santana's. "I really want you to know that I can help you if you want it. I guess I could be wrong, but I feel like there's more to this story than just getting drunk and then trying to clear your head. I know what people do at that bridge, Santana, I'm a police officer."

_You're right, _Santana thought as she pulled her hand out from underneath the other. "Well, you _are_ wrong and I'm fine."

"Okay," Officer Martinez said simply, and then rose from her seat and touched Santana's shoulder, signaling that she should get up as well. "I guess we're finished then. Can I call anyone for you?"

"There's no one to call..."

"It doesn't have to be your husband," the officer stated nonchalantly and shrugged.

She already felt extreme guilt for what she had done to Rachel, but Santana knew that if the roles were reversed she would have wanted Rachel to make the call rather than somehow be put in harm's way. She could only hope that Rachel would feel the same and wish that she had gone to her in the first place. "Rachel Berry, you can call her…" She knew that she probably owed her that much anyway.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel's childhood room was still and silent as somehow she had managed to fall asleep, no doubt due to exhaustion rather than voluntary relaxation. But unlike the quietness in the room, her brain was anything but. Her unconscious was abuzz with outlandish dreams of scheduling conflicts, wardrobe malfunctions, missing co-stars and anything else that an actress would dread in real life. The only problem was that Rachel was supposed to be on vacation and away from all those worries, but instead in the course of a day her personal life had become even more worrisome and chaotic than her stage life.

When the door was opened in an urgent manner, neither Rachel nor Olivia stirred.

"Rachel…Rachel, wake up now…"

Rachel opened her eyes, but it took her a few seconds to process everything around her. She still wasn't used to sleeping in a place that wasn't her New York City apartment or being woken by one of her fathers' voices and his hand on her shoulder. The warm little face pressed into her chest was especially alarming, but then she remembered why it was there.

"Rachel, you need to take the phone _now,_" her father, Hiram, said. He sounded as if he was almost in a panic. "It's a police officer…she asked for you by name."

A feeling of nausea instantly pulled her to full waking and as she looked up at her father's expression she figured that she must have looked just as concerned as he did. The situation was dire but being someone who gave into superstitions at times, Rachel couldn't help but kiss Olivia's forehead before taking the phone and heading for the door. They were all going to need as much luck and good fortune as they could get.

Once she was in the hallway outside her room, she leaned against the adjacent wall and then briefly looked upward, hoping for any type of higher guidance at that point. "Rachel Berry speaking," she eventually said after clearing her throat and bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Miss Berry, this is Officer Martinez with the Lima County Police Department. I'm calling on behalf of an individual we took into custody a few hours ago, Santana Karofsky. She claims that you're a contact of hers…"

"That's," the word barely came out as a sound and Rachel cleared her throat once more while adjusting the grip of the phone in her clammy hand. "That's correct."

"Well, we have her here at the –"

"But she's okay?" she interrupted. Something told her that Santana was alright, whether it be the officer's presentation and tone, or her own intuition. But the question still had to be asked, because she knew that her other surfacing questions – why was she arrested? had she been fighting with Dave? was it something worse? – would be harder to satisfy.

"She's probably felt better, but yes, she's okay," Officer Martinez reassured her. "She's been charged with Public Intoxication and – "

Once again, Rachel cut her off, asking, "Well, when can she be released? Does she need to post bail? Because if so, consider it already paid, I'll –"

"Miss Berry, try to listen," the other woman said assertively. "She's being held until noon and her fines will be issued before she's released. If you want to be here for that, then that would probably be to her advantage."

"I'll be there, that's no question," Rachel stated before hanging up, her tone all business.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

As Santana stood waiting at a window while someone fetched her belongings, she looked down at the stupid shoes she had no choice but to put on and wished that she hadn't thrown her own off a bridge. She didn't know why the coordination of her now ragged outfit with a pair of shoes meant so much to her considering other things, but vanity had always been one of her downfalls.

She was still looking at them when the receptionist came back, handing her a small plastic bag and a familiar looking manila folder, informing, "Your fine has already been paid. You're free to go."

"What do you mean it's already been paid?" Santana asked, practically glaring at the woman. She couldn't even remember the last time she had slept, she felt disgusting and she didn't want to imagine what her face must've looked like; she was in no mood to deal with anyone.

"It's been paid. Have a good day," the woman answered with finality and then shut the window just as rudely.

"You too, bitch," Santana mumbled under her breath as she walked away and flipped open the folder. What stared back at her – pamphlets and paperwork regarding domestic violence help lines and shelters – stopped her dead in her tracks. "Holy shit," she whispered, feeling as if she was holding fire in her hands. Finding the nearest trashcan, she swiftly stuffed the folder and all of its contents into it before anyone else could notice. Never did she ever think she would have rather seen Miss Pillsbury's ridiculous counseling pamphlets, but she had just proven herself wrong.

To put the notion that she was a domestic violence victim from her head, she focused on shoving her wedding ring back onto her finger. The stone wasn't very big, but she couldn't help but think that the small diamond was probably worth enough to buy two planes tickets out of the state. Maybe it was a good thing that they had given it back after all, because after the night's sloppy failure there would have to be a better agenda to take its place.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

During the course of the drive to the police department and the long wait in the lobby, Rachel's concern for Santana was turning to resentment over what she had done. She was ready to give her some tough love in the subject of getting her life back on track no matter what had happened to her, because if there was one thing that Santana herself had always been willing to give people it was definitely tough love. But that all changed when she finally saw Santana for the first time since they had met for drinks.

And what Rachel saw she was not prepared for. She was glad that Santana was focused on something on her hand so that she could not see the look on her face. "Santana…" she said almost out of shock as she stood up. There was a strangeness in watching her walk into the lobby without being noticed that made Rachel feel bad, but when Santana was visibly startled she felt bad about that as well.

"What – " It sounded like the beginning of a question, but Santana didn't finish. Instead she stood staring blankly at Rachel wondering how she was going to put a mess that had taken a lifetime to create into words. _Should've jumped…_

"You weren't expecting to see me," Rachel stated, more so than she asked.

Santana was suddenly having a flight of ideas and none of them involved sticking around to find out what else Rachel had to say to her. Without a second thought or maybe even a first, she was making the decision to walk out of the glass double doors and never come back. Her vision had tunneled to include only the walkway outside leading away from the doors and the blue summer sky that lied beyond that. If she could get there then she could leave, she could do whatever she wanted, like hitch a ride to the middle of nowhere and disappear for good.

"Santana." Rachel caught her by the hand as she passed, being mindful to be cautious and gentle as their fingers bumped into each other.

"What?" Santana asked as she stopped and angled her face away, trying her best to hide her injuries. _"What?"_

While making sure to keep their hands together, Rachel was doing her best to try to think of something to say and to keep herself from ogling what Santana so obviously didn't want seen. They were impossible not to notice though, especially when Olivia's rendition of how the injuries had happened was still fresh in her mind. "Let's just calm down for a second," she suggested, finally finding Santana's eyes, one of which was slightly swollen at the corner and more bloodshot than the other, making it appear lazy. "Are you okay?"

Santana barely reacted, it was as if her affects had been dulled or she had forgotten how to express them. But eventually, she shook her head in disagreement.

"I was so worried about you," Rachel said as she reached up and used her other hand to touch Santana's shoulder. Her plan to be angry had been completely abandoned and only then did she realize that she hadn't ever been angry, she was only worried, tired and scared.

"Why?"

"Because I –" Rachel's brows furrowed and she titled her head questioningly. "Santana, why would I _not_ be worried?"

Shrugging, Santana whispered, "I don't know…you didn't have to do this, I don't deserve this…"

"I wasn't going to leave you here," Rachel said softly. She felt as if she was speaking to a child again for how aloof Santana was acting. "The money doesn't matter if that's what you're worried about."

Looking past Rachel, Santana repeated again, "You really didn't have to do this." Then, she made a move to step back but couldn't when Rachel held fast to her hand. "You can still walk away and…and I'll just call Dave or somebody. I'll have Dave get Olivia from your house…you won't have to see me again, I'll pay you back somehow…"

Santana was working herself into a panic and Rachel did the only thing she could think of that might wake her up. She slid her hand to the back of Santana's neck and pulled her into a hug. It wasn't reciprocated, but she hoped it had some effect.

And it did. For Santana, it was easily the warmest, most affectionate hug she had received in years; she just couldn't bring herself to return it. It was almost painful having Rachel touch her, while at the same time wanting to be held and protected. Knowing that she would eventually let go brought both more pain and relief.

Making sure to smile and be positive, Rachel pulled away. "Let's not make this hard on ourselves, okay? Will you just come with me, please?"

"I can't go home," Santana whispered, sounding not as if she wasn't allowed to, but as if she couldn't for sanity's sake.

"That's why you're going to come with me, okay?" Rachel continued to pet her shoulder encouragingly. "It'll be alright."

Santana had suddenly found herself at Rachel's mercy, but she knew it wasn't the worst place she could be. Maybe it was actually where she needed to be most. "Okay…"

* * *

><p><strong>Aaand now the fun begins! Also, the police officers mentioned are going to make more appearances later in the story, so that's why I kind of left them mostly unexplained. Thanks to GorgeousSmile for helping me name them and thanks for reading!<strong>


	9. Clarity

**Ughhhh, I'm not even going to look at how long it's been since I updated. Just take it, here it is! Lol! I guess the good news is, is that I kinda feel over the whole writer's block issue, now that you all probably hate me. ;) I don't have much to say up here and I'm sure you don't want to here much from me aside from the story, haha, so anyway, thanks for all the follows, favorite and reviews. It always surprises me that I get so many even when I haven't been that active, so thanks so much for that!**

**PS: this is loosely edited and it's 3 AM, so if there are any glaring mistakes let me know. :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 – Clarity<p>

"I brought that along if you want to wear it. It's kind of cool today…"

It was a mild afternoon for June, but as Santana accepted the sweatshirt she already knew that she wouldn't be wearing it. Everything about herself felt filthy, from the stringiness of her hair to the remnants of dirt on her skinned knees and she didn't want to wear the sweet smelling grey fabric for fear of tainting it. Instead, she held it in her lap and ran her fingertips over the printed ink on the back that spelled out the words _'The Sound of Music.' _And as she read further, she found Rachel's name beside the role of _'Leisl von Trapp.' _

Rachel couldn't help but smile as she noticed Santana reading through the cast list. "It was my first musical my freshman year of college…they told me I didn't have the right look to play Maria. Imagine my surprise."

Unsure of the point of the comment, Santana continued to remain silent as they drove from the parking lot of the police station. If Rachel was trying to bond over adversities then Santana could only consider that to be in poor taste and she supposed that was really saying something. In her opinion, Rachel should have been beyond grateful for even having made it to college, being cast in musicals was just a trifle bonus.

"Here," Rachel announced, urging a pair of sunglasses in Santana's direction. "I've had a few more hangovers since the Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza, so I know how you feel this morning."

No longer could Santana hold her tongue and as she slipped on the sunglasses with the chic Louis Vuitton logo down one arm, she said quietly, "You have no idea what I feel like this morning, but thanks for the shades."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When they arrived at the park where they had re-met, Santana was almost sure that Rachel was trying to torture an explanation from her. There was nothing pleasant about being chauffeured to the place where she played with her daughter, in order to dredge up her horrible past and even worse present.

Reaching into the backseat of the car, Rachel brought back a box that had an even sweeter scent wafting from it than the detergent and fabric softener on her sweatshirt. "I bought doughnuts and bagels for breakfast. The only thing that I know you actually like is BreadstiX, but it's not open this early so hopefully this is fine…"

Knowing that Rachel remembered her favorite restaurant made something in her stomach twinge, but it was that same twinge that made food seem out of the question. "Thanks, but I don't want to eat," Santana informed, her tone meant to be one of finality. But with Rachel being Rachel, that message was lost in translation or maybe just plainly ignored.

"I think that maybe you should try to eat at least a few bites..."

Glaring, Santana nearly ripped the lid off the box, grabbed the first powdered doughnut she saw and shoved it into her mouth. "There! Happy?" she said through the mouthful, sending powdered sugar all down the front of her black dress before rolling down the window and pitching the rest of the doughnut out.

"It looks like you're doing cocaine," Rachel chuckled, not at all fazed.

Santana went blank with disbelief, wondering how Rachel could have known that she had used cocaine only days ago. But then it dawned on her, it was just a joke. Not at all mindful of her injury, she wiped her lips of the white powder she had put there herself and dusted the front of herself off, while saying sarcastically, "My, my, Rachel, it's funny just how spot on you really are. I actually did coke for the first time _just_ Friday night."

Rachel stared at her across the console for a few seconds before saying softly, "Bad joke." She was surprised, but more by the way it was admitted than by the act itself. She didn't think that anything Santana was to do or say now could surprise her and she would have been lying if she said that she herself hadn't encountered the drug during parties and behind the scenes.

"Poor choice," Santana added, flipping her hand in the air as if it wasn't all that serious. In actuality, she had startled herself by blurting the words out. She couldn't understand why she would so suddenly and so openly admit something like that to Rachel, but it was too late to backtrack.

"Well, what happened?" Rachel asked cautiously, watching as Santana's nervous energy had her fiddling with her fingers and looking back and forth out the windows.

Suddenly, Santana was taking off her donated shoes and hiking up her dress, revealing the wide lace band at the top of one stocking. As she raised her leg slightly to begin peeling it down, the hem of the already short dress moved further and a cluster of reddish, fingertip-shaped bruises on her inner thigh came into view. Rachel almost gasped out loud, but then remembered that Santana didn't know what she knew.

While Rachel bit the inside of her cheek and turned her face away, Santana finished removing the stockings and then abruptly opened the car door.

"Wait!" Thinking that she was making another run for it, Rachel grabbed at the other woman's bicep.

"Don't _touch_ me!" Santana demanded, ripping her arm away as she seethed.

"You're not going to run?" Rachel quizzed with her hand still poised in the space between them.

"I was just going to throw these stupid things in that trash can over there, _Jesus!" _Santana showed the balled up stockings in her palm and then got out of the car. "Where the fuck would I run anyway?" she mostly asked herself as she headed away from the car.

Rachel was quick to follow, not willing to let Santana get away from her again. If she had to chase her through the park she would, she just hoped that it wouldn't come to that. "Santana, I'll just have you know that you might be a few inches taller than me, but I doubt you could outrun me, so just – "

"I'm not going to run, Rachel!" Santana shouted after she had turned around from the trash can. "Let it fucking go…"

Due to the mirrored lenses of the sunglasses, Santana's eyes weren't visible and Rachel wasn't able to detect any hints of dishonesty, but she decided to trust her anyway. "Fine then, I'll let it go," she said while wondering what idea to pitch next. "So…do you want to walk or…" she trailed off noncommittally and waited.

Santana shrugged and then tossed her head with a snort. "Oh, why not? It'd be a nice walk of shame and I have a lot of shame to walk off."

Rachel had already decided that it would be better to let Santana come to her no matter how badly she wanted answers to her questions, so she simply nodded and let Santana lead the way.

From there, the two walked in relative silence, passing by the pond that Olivia had almost fallen into and further to the playground that was surprisingly deserted for a Sunday afternoon.

"So, you want to know what happened to me?" Santana asked as she eased herself onto one of the swings of the swing set, grimacing as she did. Rachel noticed the small change in facial expressions and again had to look away for fear of revealing her own. "Or should I say what didn't happen to me?"

"Santana…" Rachel sighed as she took the other swing. The exhaustion from all of the chaos was setting in heavily and as much as she wanted to be patient, she just didn't know how much longer she could handle Santana's attitude.

"I'm sorry, sir, no feeding the sluts!" Santana suddenly sniped, while practically baring her teeth at an elderly man who happened to be staring at her as he walked past with his wife. The old man shook his head as if in sadness before passing by completely.

"Santana," Rachel said again, feeling like she was scolding a petulant child.

_"What? _He was staring at me like a fucking pervert!"

"I don't care how he was looking at you!" Maybe Rachel didn't entirely mean that, but she was becoming too impatient to care. Her earlier commitment to let Santana come to her would have to be abandoned, because it was obvious that Santana was only going to tease her with the possibility of the truth. "I just picked you up from jail! I held _your daughter_ while she cried for you and sang to her until she fell asleep, after you _left _her! I think I deserve better treatment than this…I need some answers…"

"You do…" Santana quietly agreed, nodding absentmindedly as she wiggled her bare toes in the sand beneath them.

"Well, as much of a backhanded compliment as it is, you can start by explaining why you decided to abandon Olivia with me…"

Santana looked to her left and met Rachel's eyes with a hardened gaze. "Who said I was abandoning her? Don't you think that if I was going to abandon her that I could find someone better to leave her with than you?"

"Obviously you couldn't because she's at my house with my fathers as we speak," Rachel replied. She didn't want to bring the conversation to smugness and threats – that wouldn't be the way to get Santana to open up – but she was running out of options. And it was the truth.

"Fine, maybe I think you would be a good mom," Santana said flippantly.

"Are you insane? Why would you do this?" Rachel questioned, gesturing wildly with her hands as she lost her composure. "Don't you care about how Olivia feels? Won't Dave wonder where his daughter is?"

Tightly grasping the chains in her fists, Santana tried to desensitize herself to the fact that she had just been accused of being insane. To anyone else it would have been a figure of speech and nothing more. To her it was highly plausible; sane people didn't often attempt to kill themselves. "You don't know what I'm going through, I can't figure out what's right or wrong anymore…"

"I might. I might know, I mean," Rachel said, feeling guilty for knowing such painfully intimate details of Santana's life without her knowledge. She didn't even want to have to verbalize it out loud; she really couldn't imagine how it felt to go through it. Quietly, she added, "Olivia told me something…something you told her not to tell me."

_Something? _Santana's feet stopped sifting the sand and she froze, slowly turning to meet Rachel's apologetic eyes. There were plenty of 'somethings' that Olivia could have brought up, but there was one big something that she had specifically told her not to talk about. And she could tell by Rachel's expression that Olivia had gone against her warnings. She knew it was foolish to feel betrayed by a child who knew no better, but she couldn't help it. "And what would that something be?" she asked, trying to come across as apathetic, indifferent, unfeeling, anything that wouldn't give away the fact that her façade was wearing thin.

The way that Santana was able to hold eye contact was unnerving and again Rachel felt guilty as she had to focus on the ground beneath her own feet. "She told me that Dave hurt your mouth and that he…" she paused in giving Olivia's naïve recollection. Her face flushed hotly despite the coolness in the air and she didn't know if it was out of anger at Dave or embarrassment over having to repeat something so delicate to the person who already knew every detail. Santana waited patiently, eyes boring into her like she was begging her to go on and desperately pleading for her to stop all at once. "And that you were on the floor…crying and yelling while he was on top of you."

A huff of relief passed Santana's lips and then she was forcing herself to laugh. In a morbid way, the simplicity of the few short sentences was quite comical and it gave her so many possibilities to work with. "That's all she said?" she questioned, attempting to make it seem as if she was making light of the situation.

"Yes," Rachel answered slowly, looking up with some confusion at the other woman's wry smile. She had hoped that Santana would realize that she hadn't been trying to intentionally humiliate her, what she hadn't hoped for was Santana continuing her act.

"What are you even talking about?" Santana laughed like the whole situation was a huge misunderstanding, but on the inside she was disgusted with herself. "Haven't you ever heard of rough sex, Rachel? Please don't tell me you're still as clueless as you were in high school!"

Rachel was stunned. All she could say in a hushed voice was, "So you also enjoy having your lip split for foreplay? And bruises put all up and down your thighs as well?"

Santana's eyes narrowed at the corners, she hoped to look intimidating and to quell the tears as she leaned closer to Rachel. "Everyone has their kinks."

Shaking her head indignantly, Rachel wiped at her own eyes and tried to keep her emotions under control. She was thinking of Olivia's feelings now, not of Santana's which seemed to be so completely numbed. "So, it's also safe to assume that one of your kinks is having your daughter play witness to that, so much so that it confuses her and leads her to a complete breakdown?" she asked, her voice catching every now and then before suddenly turning to a harsh opposite. "Santana, I brought her to the fucking hospital last night because she was making herself sick with stress! Say you enjoy that and I'll know you're lying!"

Santana seemed to pale, making the darkness under her eyes appear even darker. "Is she okay?"

"We're not talking about her! She threw up a few times, she's not the one who's here in front of me with her lip taped up and covered in bruises after disappearing for the night!"

Despite Rachel's yelling Santana remained calm, or at least shocked into staying calm. "But she's okay?" she repeated.

"She's –" Taking in Santana's defeated body language, Rachel shut down the words she had wanted to say and reigned herself in. Olivia was still Santana's child despite what she had done and she deserved a straight answer. "Santana, she's fine," she said, sounding desperate as she tilted her head and tried to appear as convincing as possible. "But you're not, are you?"

Removing one hand from the chain, Santana bowed her head and covered her face with it as she shook her head.

Rachel twisted the swing she sat in to face her and simply looked on for a moment. She really had no idea what she was trying to accomplish. It was obvious that Santana was distressed, but that didn't mean that she had the power to fix her. "It really did happen then?" she asked anyway.

"Yes! _It _did happen, okay!" Santana barked, pulling her hand from her face and staring into Rachel's eyes for a reaction. It would have been indiscernible if she hadn't been looking for it, but eventually she noticed the way Rachel's eyes grew glassier and her throat worked as she swallowed. "Oh, please…don't look s-so sur-surprised," she stuttered over her words as Rachel's emotions seemed to manifest in her, making her voice high and strained, "she already told you everything there was to know." Disappointed that she couldn't control herself any longer, she lowered her head again, attempting to hide as much of her face as she could. "I've never been so humiliated…"

Honestly, Rachel wasn't surprised, but she was ill prepared for the moment. She couldn't be surprised when she had had so much time to think about what Olivia had told her. But no matter how much she had schemed in her head how she would play the heroine, none of the scenarios seemed to fit the one that Santana was giving her. The most she had ever had to do for Georgie was championing her after she hadn't gotten prized callbacks and even though she had considered Georgie to be quite high maintenance, Santana was proving to be even more so in unimaginable ways.

"Santana…" she said softly as she rose to stand in front of her. "It'll be…okay." She knew it was the wrong thing to say, the words sounded stale and insincere but it couldn't be helped. She felt that she had nothing to offer if Santana wasn't willing to work with her.

Starting with a slow reach, Rachel brushed just her fingertips over Santana's shoulder before laying her palm over it. "Do you need…I'll take you to the emergency room, if that's what you want. Or did you already go there? I'm sorry, I'm trying to be calm about this…just tell me what I can do for you."

Just as carefully, Santana grasped her wrist and guided it away. "I'm fine," she said, standing and walking past Rachel without any type of answer.

"You just insinuated that you weren't fine when I asked you and I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to agree with that…"

"Stop apologizing," Santana said, not hesitating in walking away. She didn't bother to turn and face Rachel as she spoke, she didn't care if she was heard or not. "This isn't your fault. I just need to go home and take care of my daughter."

"When are you going to take care of yourself?" Rachel called ahead, beginning to follow.

Santana heard the question and rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, biting into it lightly, possibly to keep it from quivering. Her hands came up to meet in front of her and before she had even made the conscious effort to do so, she stopped walking and stood picking at her fingernails. It was a lifelong nervous tic; picking at her nails until they were jagged and peeling, and then constantly filing them back to perfection.

"Can Olivia stay with you for a few days?" She had turned around to face Rachel and vomited out the words without really thinking anything through. _"Please?"_

After stopping herself from nearly colliding headlong into Santana, Rachel let the idea register for a few seconds. "Is that really what you need?" she finally asked, almost wincing as she tried to put herself into Santana's mindset.

A moment of silence passed where no one was yelling or trying to convince the other to see whatever reason they wanted them to believe.

Santana just barely shrugged one shoulder before honestly admitting, "I don't really know…"

Nodding understandingly, but knowing that she had to take advantage of Santana's sudden clarity, Rachel gave her a gentle ultimatum. "If you stay too…"

At first it seemed that Santana wanted to protest, but when she couldn't think of any more lies or excuses to use in her defense she decided to say nothing at all.

"Just a few days, like you said," Rachel continued to coax, edging forward and placing her hand over Santana's, preventing her from fidgeting any more. She nodded some more, this time in hopes of getting Santana to mirror her. "I think…well, I mean I hope it'll help you…both of you."

Santana wore a wounded expression. It was obvious that it was painful for her to have to let her pride go and just give in. And it made Rachel wish that she could have been someone else, anyone else who could have helped Santana without having to share such an awkward, tense history with her.

"Thank you…" Santana whispered at the ground, turning her hand over to grasp at Rachel's fingers. She sniffed and used the back of her other hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'm sorry I keep," she gestured to her face, referring to her swaying emotions, "doing this."

"It's okay," Rachel assured, moving some of Santana's tangled hair over her shoulder and surprisingly not being brushed off. "Let's go back to the car. I'll call my dads and let them know we're going to come back."

"Rachel, wait," Santana requested after pulling her hand away and putting some distance between them. "If I'm gonna do this…I have to go home first."

"No!" Rachel blurted in shock. "No, why would you do that? You can't." It wasn't until she caught the strange look that Santana was giving her that she realized she was out of line. In her opinion it was no good idea and while she was used to being in charge, she quickly reminded herself that she was not in charge of the woman in front of her. "I'm sorry, if that's really what you want to do, then we'll do it. But I'm sure we could make different arrangements…something safer for you."

Santana shook her head as if she didn't want to think about the implications. "I'll be fine."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel sat staring at the gauges behind the steering wheel as all of her instincts told her that she was making a mistake. She had given in to what Santana had requested and taken her to her and Dave's home, where Dave was sure to be if the truck in the driveway and the open garage door were any indication.

"I'll give you ten minutes, if you're not out by then I'm calling the police," Rachel informed, knowing that what she really should have been doing was calling the police right then and there and having Dave arrested on the spot. She knew better than how she was handling the situation or at least she thought she knew better. She was finding that there was a great deal of difference between thinking she knew what to do and actually having to do it.

Santana simply nodded her agreement as she exited the car, knowing that it was probably for the best. If she hadn't been so afraid of what would happen, she would've asked Rachel to come inside with her to appease her own fears. "Fine with me…"

"You're sure you don't want me to –"

She gave the car door a shove and let it slam closed, not wanting to give any more of an answer than that. She had never planned on seeing her husband again and it was taking all of her concentration to prepare for the moment when she would.

Walking up to the door was like a wave of déjà vu, a repeat of the morning before when she had come crawling back after going missing for the entire night and most of the day. But if Dave was waiting for her again she knew there wouldn't be a fight like last time. She had no fight left in her and she wouldn't have minded being put out of her misery; in her mind it was an act long overdue anyway.

The back door made the usual suction noise as she pulled it open, stepped in from the garage and then pushed it back into place. It was so familiar; she knew it well, just like she knew all of the other sounds in the house, especially the ones that could trigger a fury.

The television was the only other thing emitting sounds in the space, but its broadcast translated to a mindless drone for Santana as she and Dave locked eyes across the room. He was sitting on the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothing but not looking like he was too stressed about the situation that they had created.

"I was wondering when you might show your face again," he said neutrally, as if he hadn't done something shameless just the day before and she had instead.

The usual shot of adrenaline began pulsing as Santana pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat, resting her elbows on the surface and putting her head in her hands. She felt trapped, trapped by the time constraints Rachel had put into place and the fact that Dave was getting up to approach her. _Just be calm, nothing is going to happen, _she told herself, knowing that she needed to be strategic with her words and actions.

"Dave, just…" She was struggling with what to say to keep him from getting angry and she could only hope that she chose the correct words. "Just stay over there…please. I have to tell you something."

He jumped to conclusions immediately, asking coolly, "Whatdid you do?"

"I didn't do anything…" Santana said softly, eyes already starting to water as she stared down at the wood grain of the table. "…yet."

"Yet?" he repeated, his tone revealing that he wasn't pleased with the response. He stood behind the chair opposite of her, keeping the distance she had requested. "Where's Olivia?"

"Rachel is just outside in her car…all I have to do is – "

"All you have to do is _what?" _

"Olivia told her!" Santana suddenly yelled, wanting to make it known that they had greater complications to worry about. One of her palms made a sharp noise as she slapped it down onto the table. "Olivia told Rachel what happened yesterday and if I don't go back out there she's gonna call the cops!"

"Rachel?" Dave echoed, his face first showing fear before it morphed into anger. "Rachel Berry! You let her tell the biggest fucking loud mouth that we've ever known everything there is to know about us?" He turned to pace the length of the kitchen, his mind conjuring up all of the horrible things that his once social pariah of a classmate could do to him now. Police were no real threat to him, but Rachel Berry with her financial excess, celebrity status and media pull could expose everything. And unlike Santana, she was untouchable.

"How could you let her do that? She couldn't have, you must've told Rachel and now you want to blame it on Olivia because you're a coward!" he said accusingly as he began to panic. "You're sick, Santana!"

"She did tell her, I swear!" Santana yelled again and then let her voice drop to a lower volume. "I made a mistake last night…"

"Y-yeah, well, you seem to make a lot of mistakes!" There was a tremor in Dave's words that he covered by upending one of the chairs and easily tossing it into the living room, making them both flinch as it clattered onto the carpeting.

"I left Olivia with Rachel while I went out and she told her, I didn't mean for it to happen! I didn't want Rachel to find out any more than you did!" she rapidly tried to explain, knowing that the situation was escalating too fast and that she would probably be the next object being tossed around.

"Then why did you go to her?"

"I just…" Looking down – too ashamed to admit that she of all people would actually need someone or their aid – Santana submitted like she always did and quietly changed the subject, "She wants me to stay with her and her dads for a few days…"

"Santana," Dave said warningly. It was enough to have to deal with the issues concerning their sham of a marriage, but to bring Rachel and her gay fathers into the equation was more than he wanted to handle. "I hope you're joking."

"I can fix it." Santana lifted her head hopefully, willing Dave to believe her. "That's what I needed to tell you, I just need to stay with her for a while. I can convince her that everything is fine. You know I can."

"Yeah, because you're a grade A liar," Dave agreed and then seemed to calm, even going so far as to sit down in one of the remaining chairs. "You just better fucking hope that you can _fix _this because I swear, Santana, if Rachel says _anything _to _anyone_…" There was really nothing he could do now except turn over the control that he had held over Santana for years.

"I'll tell her it was all a lie. I'll tell her…I'll tell her that it was just something Olivia made up, like something from some movie I shouldn't have let her watch, you know?"

Again, Dave agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully and wondering if that could actually be a convincing story to someone like Rachel. "You think she would go for that?"

Santana gave a nervous smile and a half nod, half jolt of giddy excitement and fear. "She has to. Olivia is just a kid, what does she know? It could all be bullshit for all Rachel knows." The irony did not escape her as she lied through her teeth about making up future lies. She had already confirmed everything Olivia had said and then some.

"And your explanation for that…" Dave waved a hand toward her injured face.

"Maybe I got really drunk?" Santana shrugged with a sly, almost creepy grin. "Maybe I smashed my face into a sidewalk?"

"I guess whatever she'll believe is what we'll go with," Dave sighed and then completely gave in, naively putting his trust in someone who had no reason to do right by him. "Just go get whatever you came for and get out, before she has both of us put away."

For a split second, Santana found herself pausing out of pure shock; it had been so easy. Studying her husband in his defeat, she made the decision to believe that he wasn't trying to manipulate her in some cruel way. He was really letting her go.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

As soon as Santana had disappeared from view, Rachel had opened the driver's side door of the car, wanting to be able to hear if anything happened. Kids played in their front yard three houses down, laughing and yelling and making Rachel shoot a quick glare in their direction due to the noise. They were only enjoying themselves though, it was summer after all and she instantly regretted wishing that they would be quiet. She wondered what Olivia was doing with her fathers and she hoped that even if Olivia wasn't having fun that at least she felt safe.

After pressing one of the speed dial keys on her phone, she lifted it to her ear, not preferring to use the speaker option as she usually did. "Miranda? It's Rachel. Look, I don't have a lot of time to talk, I – no! Don't interrupt me, this is important!"

"_God, Rachel, if this is how Ohio makes you act then you can just stay there…"_

Her manager then paused on the other end after she had yelled at her and Rachel silently cursed herself. "Miranda, I'm so sorry…I'm just…I don't know how to explain this or if I even can but I'm kind of going through a difficult situation right now…"

"_Okay? You're freaking me out. Are you in trouble, do you need me to send someone out there?"_

"No, no, it's nothing like that…" She stopped talking when a reflection on the front window of the house made her heart jump, thinking it was movement from inside. "And I know I should be calling my assistant for favors, but this is a personal favor, I need you to do something for me as a friend. I trust you and I need someone I trust right now."

_"Okay, now you're really freaking me out. I'll do it, obviously. Rachel, tell me what the fuck is going on…"_

"I have a…a friend…from high school," her voice knotted up in her throat and suddenly she was almost crying, spilling out all of the stress that Santana overloaded her with. "Her husband, he's been like…beating the shit out of her. I picked her up from jail this morning and her lip is all split open and –"

_"You need to calm down or I won't be able to do anything. Why is she in jail if her husband, no never mind, just tell me what you need me to do."_

Rachel knew that Miranda's all business attitude was probably for the best in the situation and she knew that Miranda would care just because Santana was a friend of a friend, but Rachel was the one who had to help out a broken woman and it was all she could think about at the moment.

"No, you don't understand! She's –"

_"Rachel, I understand, okay? I promise I do and I want your friend to be okay just as much as you do. Now, you called me for a reason, tell me what I need to do."_

Taking a deep breath, Rachel focused herself again. "I need you to get in touch with my lawyers. You don't have to say anything, but just let them know that I'm going to be calling them…soon. And, I can't stress this enough, _do not_ let any of the media get wind of this. If the name Santana Lopez or Santana Karofsky crosses anyone's desk in that city I want you to shut it down. I don't care who you have to pay off or how much it costs, I'll take care of it…but she doesn't need that right now or ever, and especially not because of her relation to me."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

In the next instant, Santana was standing with her back to the inside of her and Dave's bedroom door taking deep breaths. Again, she was frozen in place, letting her eyes dart around the room for things she would need while trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. It hadn't gone overly well, but it had gone surprisingly better than expected. After she had given herself a moment to gather herself she started to act.

There was a suitcase in the closet with a broken zipper that Dave used for "business trips," as if a construction job really required business trips, but she didn't care. It was a far cry from who she used to be in high school, but she would've carried her belongings out of that house in a burlap sack. It wasn't the suitcase that mattered; it was everything she was going to jam into it – some clothing, what jewelry she had, Olivia's birth certificate and baby book, the last quarter of her life.

After ransacking the bedroom she went into the bathroom, getting a visual assault from the day before. "Shit," she practically hissed, using one hand to cover her eyes, blocking out the random traces of blood and the small pile of clothing on the floor.

Wetting it under the sink faucet, she used her hand to wipe away rusty colored swatches – fingerprints – that had been leftover on the edge of the clear plastic shower curtain. She didn't care so much about the blood as she did about the clothing; the blood was just easier to think about. There was a decision to be made, but making the correct choice was a difficult one.

Knowing that her ten minute limit was probably closing in on her, Santana still sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at the pile of clothes. The skirt she had been wearing lied on the floor and her shirt on top of that, but the item of probable importance was hidden between the two. Using just her fingertips she moved the shirt aside and the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, stale perfume and whatever else she had gotten into met her senses. The barely there black panties were exactly where she had put them, with their dried, whitish stains so obviously visible.

Whether it was from the smell, the stress, all of the toxicities she had consumed in the past days or all of the above, she found herself clenching her jaw and attempting to swallow the saliva gathering in her mouth. But it was no use, not having time to lift the lid of the toilet she turned around and vomited into the bathtub instead. Seeing the bite of donut from Rachel's breakfast offering set her off further and she continued to gag until only sour, neon green bile would come up.

Santana didn't wait for her wooziness to pass before she stood, braced herself with a hand on the countertop and began rummaging in the lower cabinets. It didn't take long for her to find the roll of plastic bags that went in the waste basket but her shaky hands – which she swore would never be still again – refused to cooperate with her.

"Fuck, come on," she cursed, rolling the thin plastic between her fingers trying to open one of the bags. She was almost sure that she could hear some phantom sirens in the distance and her hairline was starting to break out in sweat.

When the bag finally opened, she experienced the strangest rush of relief as she swept her discarded clothes inside and then shoved it into the suitcase. She felt as if she was stealing something from Dave when it actuality she was probably taking something of hers back from him. It wasn't clear to her how she had gone from suicide to gathering clues to possibly exact revenge, but she didn't have time to reflect on her mood swings.

She practically crashed out into the hallway, stumbling over the unfamiliar shoes she was wearing, and then made it back to the kitchen within a matter of seconds. Dave was still seated at the table and texting on his cell phone. Whoever he was talking to or whatever he was telling them, she didn't care. She was nearly free.

The last thing she picked up was the duffel bag she used for stripping, before breezing back out the door, saying, "I'll be in touch…"

One corner of her mouth twisted up in a smirk and for a fleeting moment she felt like Santana Lopez again, someone who was bold and unafraid of anyone else. Immediately seeing Rachel standing against the hood of her car with her cell phone poised in her hand put Santana back in reality again and she was no longer the heroine of her own story. Oddly, she was okay with that. She had been waiting for this opportunity, she just hadn't known it.

"It's been longer than ten minutes," she called knowingly, almost out of breath as she pulled the heavy suitcase and walked quickly. "You didn't call."

Rachel appeared struck, torn between guilt and embarrassment. "I-I…I didn't know…"

High on her short lived moment of power, Santana was sympathetic. "It's okay," she said as she waited at the trunk while Rachel fumbled with her key fob to open it. "It's harder to do than it would seem, I would know." After putting everything in, she didn't hesitate in getting back into the car, closing the door and anticipating the sound of the locks engaging.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Rachel apologized, not entirely sure of herself as she mirrored Santana's urgency and started the car. "Everything was okay?"

"He was sleeping," Santana lied. The locks clunked automatically as Rachel shifted into reverse and she couldn't recall feeling so safe in quite some time. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! <strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**What to say after being gone for such a shamefully long time? Hmm, I don't even know! :( But anyway, thanks for still showing interest even though it's taken me forever to update, I still get a lot of reviews and messages asking about and supporting this story. Just as a side note, I don't think I'm going to use chapter titles any longer, so I'll probably be adjusting that sometime in the near future. I can never think of them and it usually just stalls the updating process for me. **

**PS - for those of you who still follow FS, an update will be coming for that soon too. I do plan on finishing it!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

"I'm so tired that I don't even feel alive right now," Santana droned, and in her head she thought, _I'm not supposed to be._ She was pulling her suitcase up to the Berries' front door behind Rachel, who was carrying the box of bagels and doughnuts and shouldering the duffel bag.

"Me too. When was the last time you slept?" Rachel asked as she reached for the doorknob and found it tagged with a bright blue Post-It note.

"Yesterday, for a little while. I think I kinda passed out after…after, yeah…"

It was an awkward moment and when Rachel turned to look at Santana it only made it worse as she shifted her eyes away. "I get it," she assured, letting Santana know that she didn't need to explain. The note her fathers had left served as a light distraction and Rachel held it out to be read.

_R & S –_

_We're watching a movie in our room. Olivia had breakfast w/ us earlier, she ate pretty well and she's napping now. Hope all is well._

_ Love,_

_- the Dads_

"They're cute," Santana said after reading through the short message. She felt a sense of sentimentality over being included. It was an unfamiliar yet welcome feeling, even if it had only come from a simple note.

Rachel studied Santana and then decided that she probably needed to hear what she wanted to say. "They're really glad you're here, you know," she said in all honestly. "They were as worried about you as I was…I just want you to know that they would most definitely rather have you here than with Dave. Actually, I've never seen daddy so furious, I think he was about to track Dave down himself."

"So they know too?" Santana shifted the suitcase back and forth and bit at her bottom lip while looking out into the yard.

"I'm sorry. I just really didn't know what to do on my own…especially if you hadn't come back."

"It's okay, I understand why you did it," Santana said quietly, being reminded once again of how much humiliation she had put herself through in recent days. Then, her mind shifted to what memories she had of Rachel's fathers, the two men who always appeared to be the odd couple but always came together to support their daughter at Glee club functions. One of them – a hulking African-American man, if she remembered correctly – was just the guy who she would have liked to imagine punching Dave's skull in. "So, which one is daddy?"

"The big one," Rachel laughed, already knowing what the other woman was thinking about. "Who, surprisingly, Olivia seems to like. She started to warm up to him, he waited with us in the ER last night."

Santana smiled, albeit kind of sadly and then asked, "Can I see her?"

There was something a little tragic about Santana asking to see her own child, but Rachel tried to forget that and smiled back anyway. "Of course."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Feeling as if she was doing something wrong, Rachel hovered in the hallway outside of her bedroom only stealing glances inside when she thought she wouldn't be noticed. She couldn't say that she completely trusted Santana, but it probably should have been obvious that Santana was too exhausted to pull anything else that day.

Inside, the room was fairly dark from the blinds being closed. Rachel could see Santana as a shadowy outline standing beside the bed and she couldn't make out Olivia's features at all, but it was apparent that she was still asleep. Santana wasn't waking her nor was she even attempting to touch or kiss her forehead, she was only watching her sleep.

Rachel had imagined the reunion between mother and daughter happening differently, but then again, she really knew nothing about the complex relationship between the two. She didn't know what Santana was feeling or thinking, the most personal and emotionally trying obstacle she had ever faced was probably her issues with her own mother, Shelby Corcoran, followed closely by her most recent breakup. And while she had thought those situations had been stressful enough and sometimes still were, it seemed silly to compare them to what Santana was up against.

When the door opened fully and Santana came out closing it behind her, Rachel forced a happy expression. "How is she?"

"Fine," Santana said, keeping her voice low so Olivia wouldn't be woken by the sound. "I want to wake her up, but I know I shouldn't." She was wearing a watery, yet sincere smile.

"She did have kind of a long night," Rachel answered just as softly.

"And she'll be a little heathen if she doesn't get a nap."

The comment seemed so natural and mundane that Rachel could almost imagine that they were just two people having a casual conversation, discussing the simple routines that composed their everyday lives. But what was taking place was anything but routine or mundane. "I'll have to see it to believe it," she teased.

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, obviously drawing her reaction from previous experience. "Just wait. You probably will."

And just like that, the short statement reminded them of why they were really standing outside of Rachel's bedroom and Santana looked away, unsure of what she was supposed to or allowed to do next.

"Um," Rachel said a little too quickly, making it apparent that she thought the pause in conversation was just as awkward. "We have a pull-out couch in the basement if you want to rest. It'll be dark and I'll make sure everyone is quiet, you can sleep as long as you like. Or, you know, you can stay in my room with Olivia, whatever you feel most comfortable with…it doesn't matter –"

"I need to shower. I'm disgusting," Santana stated simply.

A flicker of a smile passed over Rachel's face before she grew serious again. "You're not –"

Making eye contact, Santana gave her a silent warning to not go on. "I am."

"Okay…you can use the bathroom downstairs," Rachel said in quiet defeat. "I'll get you some towels."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When Santana was eventually left alone in the basement with fresh, folded towels lying in her lap, she finally had the time to let everything that had happened catch up with her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed that Rachel had pulled out, waiting for the running water to fog the mirror in the bathroom and aside from exhaustion, her mind was completely clear. She wasn't high or in shock or intoxicated and things were beginning to hurt again.

Her stomach was empty to the point of nausea and just the thought of attempting to eat again brought the taste of bile back to her mouth. _When was the last time I ate? How long has it been since I slept properly? _She tugged at a strand of thread near the hem of one of the towels and tried to remember the answers to the questions she was asking herself.

She was jolted from her own thoughts when someone – presumably Rachel – dropped something on the floor upstairs, sending a sharp noise down into the basement that made her jump. It was nothing major, maybe a set of car keys or a piece of silverware, but it set her off and made her realize how anxious she felt sitting in the open room.

After taking the handle of her suitcase, she walked into the bathroom more quickly than what would normally be necessary and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it immediately. The warm, heavy steam that had gathered weighed on her face and began to calm her pulse, which had begun to pick up for no real reason. The mirror reflected no images through the condensation on its surface and that gave her some relief as well; she didn't think she could handle having to look at herself in that moment.

"You're fine," Santana whispered aloud, even though she knew she couldn't make herself believe it just by saying it.

Kneeling on the tiled floor, she unzipped the suitcase, pulled out her worn Cheerios sweatshirt that she had taken from a laundry basket in her haste to pack and then held it to her face. It smelled different from the sweatshirt Rachel had tried to give her. It smelled like home and familiarity and Olivia; it also smelled like blood. Startled, she brought the fabric away from her face and remembered how Dave had given her a nose bleed days ago, before all of their lives had suddenly erupted.

As she recalled how the blood had felt running down her lips before it had fallen on the collar, Santana sat down clumsily on the floor and bowed her head into the sweatshirt again. It had finally come to the point she had been dreading, the one where she couldn't keep it together anymore. The one where she had no one to convince but herself while knowing it was impossible. She could only hope that with the water still running no one would hear her trying to catch her breath through her crying.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel had taken exactly three bites of a bagel before abandoning it on a napkin setting in front of her. She couldn't consciously remember when she had stopped eating and put it down, but she could see the three little crescent shapes in it that her teeth had left. Eating didn't feel so very important as she sat in the still basement, facing the bathroom where Santana was having to weather her reality alone.

At some point the chewing had begun to feel like work and in her overloaded mind the only things she had the energy to think of were Santana's bruised thighs. She could almost imagine how Santana looked on the other side of the door; she could easily guess why the water had been running for nearly an hour.

A part of her wanted to knock on the door and ask Santana if she was okay, but she knew she already had her answer. There was no way for someone to suddenly be okay after experiencing everything Santana had been going through.

Instead, Rachel continued to man her post and worry. She couldn't predict what the next few hours would bring, let alone the next few days or weeks, but already she had integrated Santana and Olivia and their situation into her summer vacation. Although she couldn't be so sure of how much of a vacation it would be any longer.

A faint, yet metallic sounding noise that came from the bathroom caught her attention and she watched the doorknob, waiting for it to turn after thinking that that had been the cause of the noise. When it didn't turn she began to wonder what really had caused it. It could have been an item that Santana had brought with her or a container from one of the cabinets, anything really. But the fact that she couldn't be completely sure bothered Rachel. She didn't know why her mind was taking her to the places it was, but she did know that there was a straight razor in the back of the highest cabinet. It was an antique, passed down from one of her grandfathers and after its shimmery mother-of-pearl handle had caught her eye as a child it had been put up there to keep her from injury.

She hadn't grown significantly since then and now at her full height she still wasn't sure if she could even reach it; she had never had a reason to try. But something told her that with just a few inches over her, Santana would have been able to reach it if she wanted to.

Trying to shake her dark thoughts, Rachel told herself that there was no way for Santana to even know that it was there and that it was extremely farfetched for her to think that Santana would try to harm herself. She couldn't imagine her going to such lengths.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

By the time Santana had slowly peeled her clothes off and willed herself to stand up in the shower, the water was beginning to run cold. She hadn't known if her teeth were chattering from being chilled or from crying so forcefully. And when she finally finished and had to turn the water off, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the floor again shivering, tucking her chin to her chest and trying to swallow down the hiccups of sound still escaping her.

Movement of the towel against her lip caused a sharp sting; the surgical tape had started to lift at the edges, letting the cut begin to bleed anew after being wet in the shower. Red splotches stained the light, butter cream color of the towel and after finally having calmed herself down somewhat, she felt sick all over again. With shaky hands, she pushed her Cheerios sweatshirt aside and pulled the plastic bag that she had been given at the police station out of her suitcase.

Everything in her life seemed to be bloody and terrible and now she was getting herself all over Rachel's life as well. But if Rachel was the one person willing to be sullied by her mistakes then Santana had no other choice but to take what she was offering.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When the bathroom door softly clicked open, Santana stood at the threshold wearing only black boyshorts and a grey tank top. She was holding the towel to the lower half of her face and she visibly trembled even as the trapped steam escaped around her.

"It won't stop bleeding," she said, somewhat muffled by the towel and the fact that her voice was thick and choked.

"What?" Rachel asked on impulse, already up from her seated position and walking towards her. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she would be able to handle whatever Santana would present to her next; she was constantly being met with a new set of challenges.

Santana closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly as new tears tracked down her cheeks. "My lip," she whispered, sounding on the verge of sobbing. "It started bleeding from the water," her voice cracked and she inhaled sharply. "I ruined your towel."

"It doesn't matter," Rachel quickly assured as she placed an arm around Santana, feeling goosebumps and the chilled water running down onto her bare shoulders from her hair. "Come, sit," she gently instructed, guiding Santana to the edge of the bed where she had been. She stood facing her and with a very light hand, coaxed the towel from her face. "Let me see, okay?" Santana seemed dazed as she yielded, letting her own hand drop when she was urged to do so.

The rubbing of the towel had smeared the blood somewhat, but it was nothing overwhelming. Rachel knew she could fix it, but she didn't think she could so easily fix the vacant dark eyes that stared into her own. "It's not that bad," she tried to reassure. "It only looks like a lot on the towel, but it's not that bad, I promise. I can take care of it, just let me –"

"Here…" Pushing her other hand out from her lap, Santana nudged Rachel's knee with the bag she had been holding. "The officers gave it to me," she said in a whisper, referencing the roll of tape that could be seen through the clear plastic.

"Okay," Rachel breathed, feeling some sort of relief over at least one thing being made simple in the situation. "Okay, perfect…I'm just going to, I'm…" Shaking her head a little and closing her eyes, she had to remind herself to focus on Santana and not on the fact that her nerves were taking over. "I'm going to wet a cloth to clean it before I tape it again."

Santana didn't give her consent either way, she only sat motionless aside from her shivering.

It took less than a minute for Rachel to find a washcloth in the bathroom cabinet, wet it with lukewarm water and be back to Santana, finding her pressing her mouth with the towel again. Her movements were robotic, but she sounded very human when she whispered, "It really hurts."

She looked so innocent and childlike that Rachel could feel her own throat tighten with emotion. "I know, sweetie," she said, using a pet name that she had used on Olivia not so long ago. To distract and keep from tearing up herself, she began taking the tape from the bag, not looking at the young woman in front of her as she did. It was unsettling to see Santana, who had fallen so far from innocence in her experiences, appear so young and bewildered. It made her feel young herself. "I…I'll try to help you feel better."

Holding the cloth away from Santana's face, Rachel showed that she meant no harm and waited for her to give some signal of agreement. When Santana gave a subtle dip of her head, Rachel slowly touched the cloth to the corner to her mouth, just barely brushing the skin and being mindful of the cut. The blood came away fairly easily and before long she was collecting the last of it from Santana's chin, which would tremor from the cold and her crying every so often. By the time she had placed – she hoped without too much discomfort – a thin, fresh piece of surgical tape along the cut, Santana seemed more drained than ever.

"Good as new," Rachel said quietly, hearing the flat, unconvincing sadness in her own voice.

Santana only continued to stare at her, tears slowly gathering on her lower lashes to run down her cheeks, as if she was still waiting for whatever Rachel had planned to try to make her feel better.

Hating that she had nothing else to offer and not able to handle the look of sheer heartbreak on Santana's face, Rachel forced a pitiful half-smile and moved to bring her into a hug. She was met with Santana's hands suddenly on her shoulders, holding her back and keeping them apart. "Santana," she whispered, hoping to convey something or anything of comfort, as their gazes met. "You're okay here."

After a few seconds of stubborn hesitation, with a high, choked whimper, Santana surrendered and dropped her head between them, her hands releasing their tense grip as they rested more loosely at the sides of Rachel's neck.

"You're okay," Rachel repeated. Gently and slowly, as all her movements had been, she touched the back of Santana's head, her fingers falling between pieces of sleek, wet hair. "You and Olivia are going to be okay."

The mention of her daughter's name seemed to break her completely. As her crying consumed her again, Santana took the hand smoothing over her hair as the invitation it was meant to be and leaned forward, placing her forehead in the bend of Rachel's neck.

Feeling stretched too thinly herself, Rachel sniffled and tried to blink away the mistiness in her own eyes, and then put her head down so that her cheek rested against Santana. With her other hand softly rested on Santana's ribcage, she could feel the quick heaves of breath and every sad cry that managed to escape.

"Santana," she said again, not really knowing why, but wanting Santana to know that she was trying her best to be there for her and to understand.

There were fingers desperately twisted up in the front of Rachel's shirt and the gesture made it seem that Santana was unaware of their close proximity or had become uncaring of the fact. She had yet to be so open with her emotions, there had been a constant push and pull between them that she had used to keep herself at a distance. Rachel couldn't blame her for that.

"Rachel?" Santana said between uneven breaths, keeping her head down.

Reaching up to delicately touch her knuckle beneath her eye, Rachel brushed away a tear and then cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"I –" Santana tried to speak but the words wouldn't form completely. "I…don't know… what to do." She lifted her head then, meeting Rachel's eyes again.

It was the first moment that Rachel could recall Santana putting her trust in her, sitting face-to-face, owning up to her mistakes. And she had no answer for her. She didn't know how to delve into all of Santana's problems without upsetting her further. "I think that…that you should…" she trailed off and tried to smile again as she brushed Santana's wet hair over her shoulder. "That you should rest for now. Does that sound good? We'll sleep for a while and then we'll try to figure things out…later?"

Santana's confusion was evident, her brows came together and she opened her mouth to speak, but then paused and nodded in slow agreement. "Okay…"

"Okay," Rachel repeated, rubbing Santana's shoulder encouragingly but feeling like a cop out. She tried to reason with her conscience, telling herself that it only made sense for them to recharge before trying to wade through Santana's issues, but she could only feel like she was floundering. She had peeled away Santana's guards with good intent, only to find that she wasn't ready to face them herself. She couldn't imagine how Santana felt.

"It's cold," Santana said quietly, sniffling and shivering again.

The short statement took away from the seriousness for a moment and Rachel was selfishly thankful for that. She could change how Santana felt in that aspect, but she could only wish that other problems could be solved so easily, like by wrapping her in blankets and hoping that she felt warm and safe.

"I'll grab you a blanket in a sec. Here, turn around," Rachel urged as she tangled her hands in her own hair, taking out the hair tie that was holding it in a ponytail. If she hadn't had been so focused on Santana she would have showered herself, but since she hadn't her hair had been messily pulled up since the night before.

As she was wiping at her eye with the back of her hand, Santana paused to study Rachel's face, searching for a motive behind the request. "Why?"

"I just…" Rachel stopped as well, knowing that she needed to be more conscious of Santana's current state. She held up the hair tie as an explanation. "Your hair…it's wet and cold…I thought maybe I could put it up for you, so you would be more comfortable when you sleep. I do that sometimes…I think it – never mind, I don't have to do it."

Santana gave a weary sigh and slowly turned to face away from Rachel. "I'm not gonna break if you touch me, you know?"

"No, no. I don't think that, it's just that…I'm going to stop talking now."

Santana gathered up her hair to put it over her shoulders and as she did, what looked like half of a fading bite mark showed from underneath the strap of her tank top.

There was a pang that reverberated in Rachel's chest and it wasn't the first time that she had felt it that day. She wanted more than anything to be able to pull Santana against her and just squeeze her, but since she had no idea how it would be received she settled for braiding her hair instead.

"You have such beautiful hair," Rachel commented absentmindedly when she was about midway through completing the braid.

Huffing in what sounded like annoyance, Santana let her back relax so she wasn't sitting so stiffly. "You don't have to say things like that to try to make me feel better."

Rachel stayed silent as she finished her work and secured the hair tie. Then, since her hands were rested on Santana's back anyway, she decided to bring her earlier thought to life and slid them over her shoulders until she was hugging Santana against her chest.

"What are you doing?" Santana asked, trying to be calm but going more rigid again.

Rachel closed her eyes tightly and rested her chin on Santana's shoulder, hoping that she wasn't pushing too far. "I just need a hug," she said softly. "It's been a long day." After a few seconds she felt a hand hesitantly settle on her forearm.

"Okay," Santana answered back just as softly, her chin starting to quiver again. "Me too."

After several long moments, Rachel pulled away and then went to find another blanket. And by the time she came back, Santana was lying on her side with her eyes closed, seemingly already asleep. She immediately opened them though when Rachel carefully laid the blanket over her.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Rachel smiled, hoping to convey just how genuine her concern was. "I'll let you sleep now," she finished, and then began to retreat towards the stairs.

"You could stay…"

Thinking she had heard wrong, Rachel couldn't help but ask, "What was that?"

"I know you're tired too, you were up most of the night because of me," Santana reasoned while trying to remain light and then kicked some of the blanket toward the other side of the bed. "Just stay, I'll share."

Without trying to look too eager, Rachel grinned and then went to sit at the edge of the mattress to take off her shoes. She figured she must've made some sort of good impression on Santana's trust if she still wanted to be in the same room with her, not to mention share a bed.

"Just don't be buggin' me. You know my face is all kinds of messed up right now and I needs my beauty sleep."

"I wonts be buggin' you, Santana."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

_Wherever she is, it's cold. It's cold, but it's soft like silk. Or maybe more like silt, soft like thousands of infinitesimal pieces of matter that had been weathering and decaying through time. There's a heartbeat but it's not her own. It's too muffled and irregular, a periodic lub-dub that sounds more like tires hitting a seam in a road than something living. It can't belong to her because she can hear her own pulse slowing, the sound of its weakening rhythm meeting her mind in echoing waves and trying to escape at her temples. A taste fills her senses, or maybe those were her sinuses and her mouth and her lungs that were filled with the taste of cold earth and the creatures that dwell beneath it. The coldness transforms into the sensation of wetness and she can't breathe, but needs to desperately. There's a shift against the submersion and even as the softness tries to suck her back she eventually breaks the surface…_

When Santana finally took the breath, the last remnants of the dream melded with her waking images – water murky with blood, Rachel's face just across from her own, vehicles traveling over a bridge, the edge of the blanket and the soft pillows beneath their heads. It took less than a second for her to know that she wasn't dead and that she wasn't rotting away in some pool of stagnant muck, but she was still cold.

The basement in combination with the summer air conditioning was making a humid chill set in and a sudden shudder had her wishing that Rachel wasn't so Rachel; most of the blanket was pulled into her chest and clutched in her hands, tucked under one side of her face where she was drooling on a large portion of it.

_ From one nightmare to another,_ Santana thought, curling into herself more and placing her hands between her knees. A part of her wanted to jerk her half of the blanket onto her side of the bed and tell Rachel that she was too old to be stealing all of the blankets at the sleepover, but they weren't having a sleepover and it was solely her fault that Rachel was so exhausted. But once she had gotten a small taste of sleep, she only wished that she could get comfortable enough to fall asleep again.

After completely abandoning any thought of having the blanket back and beginning to lightly doze off, Rachel started to twitch, and then wiggle and then talk. Santana glared at her in the dim light, hoping that by sheer will and telepathic efforts that she would be able to make her shut up. Leave it to Rachel Berry to not even stay quiet in her sleep.

"S'too high…"

The sleep-slurred words left Santana trying to figure out what she meant, but the next snippet of speech was more revealing.

"Cold…turn it down," Rachel mumbled, bordering on whining as she twisted more snugly into the blanket.

Just as Santana was wondering how Rachel could be so cold while hogging the entire blanket, a limp hand pushed across the mattress and softly nudged at her arm. "George, turn down the air…"

_Who the fuck is George? _At that point, Santana could feel her lip turning in disgust but stopped when the surgical tape pulled at her cut. She did not want to be confused with one of Rachel's former bedmates.

When Rachel reached out and clumsily slid her hand along Santana's jaw line, Santana couldn't help but gasp and instinctively jerk her face away.

"Oh, shit!" Rachel woke immediately after feeling the sudden movement, cursing as she recoiled and wiped the spit from her face. "God, it's freezing down here."

Santana wasn't sure if she was trying to downplay the fact that she was drooling all over herself or that she had accidentally mistaken her for someone else. "I know," she agreed quietly, "Especially when _someone_ is taking all of the covers and salivating on them."

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Rachel practically sighed as she sat up and turned the blanket, placing a dry corner back over Santana. She sounded exceptionally tired and disappointed with herself for what had happened, and she hardly noticed the hint of humor in Santana's comment. Moments later, she was getting up from the bed and heading for the thermostat on one of the walls near the stairwell. "Is that why you're awake?" she asked as she walked away. "Because you're cold again? I guess I'm not as good at not bugging you as I thought I was."

"Partly and it's fine," Santana answered honestly, tugging the blanket that was still warm from Rachel closer to her chin. She closed her eyes tightly until jumbled colors danced behind her eyelids, hoping that she could forget her dream so thoroughly that she wouldn't even remember how to explain it out loud.

The bed shifted as Rachel lied back down and she grazed Santana's knee with her own as she situated herself. "It should be better now, I turned the air down," she announced. The innocent touch meant nothing to her – she might as well have not felt it all – but to Santana it felt foreign. "And what do you mean partly? What's the other part?" she started to yawn, already letting her own eyes shut as she waited for a reply.

"I was dreaming," Santana said flatly. "And not pleasantly."

At that, Rachel opened her eyes again, but after seeing Santana's blank expression she could tell that the subject wasn't open to discussion. "I was dreaming too. About…about my…"

Santana looked away knowingly; she could sense that Rachel was feeling some degree of humiliation over what had happened. "I could tell."

"I don't know why I still dream about her, it's been nearly a year," Rachel said, sounding openly frustrated. Then, with an embarrassed sounding groan, she asked, "Fuck…I wasn't trying to like spoon you or anything was I? Is that the real reason why you woke up?"

Involuntarily, Santana giggled aloud, a real genuine giggle that she hadn't even had to think about for it to form. "No," she smiled, "you just kinda patted my face."

Rachel was close to passing out again, but the sound of Santana's little bout of laughter made her smile as well. "Still embarrassing."

"It was funny," Santana said softly, nicely, but then in a more appropriate manner for her character, added, "but the drooling was disgusting."

Rolling her eyes at herself and passing her hand over her eyes, Rachel sided with her. "Point taken."

It was silent for a few seconds before Santana's curiosity got the better of her, but she had been sharing so many secrets and misfortunes of her own life that she hoped it was only fair for Rachel to divulge some of her own. "So, your girlfriend's name was George?"

_"What? _No!" Rachel defended, "Her name was Georgina."

"You said George when you were sleeping," Santana continued, finding that the dorky Rachel from high school wasn't hidden too far behind the upgraded style and haircut.

"Santana…" Rachel sighed with exasperation, making her worry for a moment. "You grew up with me, you know that Rachel-isms sometimes cannot be explained."

Again, because it was so true, Santana found herself wanting to laugh, but this time she held it at bay by rolling her lower lip between her teeth. "You're still so weird, Berry," she smiled into the dark, while studying what she could make out of Rachel's eyelashes. It felt like she had taken a step back in time just then. Maybe they were sixteen again and they really were having a sleepover, with their knees bumping together under their nest of blankets because they were too nervous to move any closer, yet too curious to move apart. The present had a way of showing Santana the opportunities she had missed out on in the past.

Without opening her eyes, Rachel gave a lazy smile that was visible by the minimal light showing on her teeth. "Well…" she said sleepily. "You're still sweet underneath it all."

Santana just continued to stare at her, wondering if what she had said was true or if she could even believe it herself. As of late, she had never felt more out of touch with the part of herself that Rachel was referencing. "I hope."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"I don't think we should wake her."

"I think we should wake her up."

After whispering over one another, Leroy and Hiram eyed each other in disagreement as they stood in Rachel's bedroom, where Olivia had slept most of the afternoon away. Neither of them doubted that she needed the sleep, but with the time nearing six o'clock in the evening Hiram worried that she would be up all night if she was allowed to sleep any longer.

"Look at her, she's still exhausted," Leroy said, breaking eye contact to look at the little girl who was sleeping on her stomach, her left arm gathering part of a blanket into her side.

"I know, but that's a good thing," Hiram countered. "If she's still tired then she can sleep through the night and get back into a routine."

Leroy looked back up to Hiram and a moment of silent understanding passed between them. They didn't know what Olivia's routine would become once Rachel and Santana began sorting things out, but they could only hope that Santana would maintain her decision to stay with them for at least a few days. "Do you think she'll want to leave?"

Hiram sighed and then started to shake his head. "I don't know, I can't think about it right now. I can barely wrap my head around all of this. If Santana won't stay…you know Rachel won't let this go…"

"And with good reason," Leroy pointed out.

"Yes, of course…I'm just…worried. I can already feel that whatever is going to happen, isn't going to happen cleanly."

Leroy placed a hand on his husband's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Maybe Rachel taking this vacation this summer was meant to be more than just a vacation. She has plenty of free time and money and access to good law professionals, and on top of that, she's strong."

Hiram looked at him with somewhat of a frustrated expression. "It's not Rachel I'm worried about. If Santana isn't ready to defend herself then there's nothing Rachel's money or willpower can do to change that."

"You're right…but all we can do is hope that she makes the right decision, and help and encourage her along the way."

"I don't disagree with that," Hiram said after taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead, which already had enough wrinkles from worrying over his daughter. "I just don't think any of us are ready for what's going to come of this. But anyway," he sighed again, putting the glasses back on. "Let's try to focus on Olivia and Santana for now."

* * *

><p><strong>Lots of Pezberry interaction in this one! There will be more Olivia and moments between the three of them in the next one. Thanks for reading! :)<strong>


End file.
